


Divided We Fall

by ImmortalDesire



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Awkward Sexual Situations, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Humanstuck, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-02-14 06:00:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2180643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImmortalDesire/pseuds/ImmortalDesire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tragic tale set in 1218 A.D. England involving all the beta kids and trolls in a fantastical alternate universe rather than what really happened during that time period in England. This is the prequel to the modern tale to come later,  the story that started it all. This story is NOT for the faint-hearted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not—in any way, shape or form—own the characters in this story. They belong to Andrew Hussie, the creator of Homestuck.
> 
> Note: This will be updated on a weekly basis (meaning every Thursday specifically), but is by no means to be posted on time all the time. I may have every chapter planned in my head, but even I get caught up in the roller coaster called life from time-to-time. Also, just to get this out of the way, this story is also posted on fanfiction.net under the pen-name Izaya-chi (my account on there) in case someone finds out and starts to question me later. Anyways, hope you all enjoy and stick along for the ride all the way to the end! (My geographical notes are located in the end note section, by the way.)

There were three lands. Well, two lands separated by a large lake and two cities, one forest town. The lands altogether were known as the county of Filindia and were a part of the country of England, northeast to London, and the two Kingdoms were established in 628 A.D.

When looking down on the land from a bird’s point of view, the two Kingdoms are completely separated by Lake Doombreak, which is practically split in itself due to the estranged weather cast. More specifically, half the lake is sparkling beneath a blue sky while the other half fogged-over under a gray sky, and ridiculously humid. The right half of Lake Doombreak is the mirthful side, and is closest to the Kingdom of Tartaunus.

Unlike its name, the Kingdom of Tartaunus was a rather happy place with an unruly Queen that managed to keep everything in order. Her subjects were very loyal and her closest knights the epitome of. Even the citizens adored her, and the peasants appreciated her more than they did any of the previous rulers. However, the skies had not always been as clear as they are now, and the royals had suspected it was because of the mage a band of guards had discovered living in a stone cottage in the lush forest behind the wood-smiths lot one day in 1200 A.D.

Although the woman had put up a good fight, the militia group had managed to trap her along the shoreline of Lake Doombreak, where she met her immediate end by them. Unfortunately she was denied a proper burial, even if she was the “last mage,” and instead, was left there to float atop the surface of the dark waters of Lake Doombreak. After that unfortunate event, the gray clouds had moved on elsewhere, and the population rate broke record, reaching higher than ever before for the Kingdom of Tartaunus. Although the soil was mysteriously a lot less fertile now, the fish business is booming along with a dramatic increase in butchery.

 

On the left side of Lake Doombreak lies Hopeland Kingdom, the Kingdom that used to be “the place to be” with the largest population England had ever known—until the Last Mage was exterminated that fateful day in 1200 A.D. The gray sky that had left Tartaunus’ side had taken up residence in Hopeland Kingdom, _and hasn’t left since_. It rains twice or thrice every week and floods the streets (especially the peasants’ mud roads outside the main town) four times a month. The disease rate had risen to quite a fleet in 1207 A.D., and every desperate peasant had either saved up all the fare money they could manage to ride the ferry over to the Kingdom of Tartaunus, or died sick. The land became very poor and food so scarce that it was a wonder how some farmers still managed to prosper in Hopeland with their crop fields drenched all the time. The only food businesses that prospered the most were, again, the fish mongers and any baker. Butchers had to hunt elsewhere, but that ended up being too pricey for the constant travel expense as well as the fee to hunt on Tartaunus since they paid tax in Hopeland. They would hunt in Brinkman—the forest land attached to Hopeland on a high slope on the non-peasant driven side of the main town—since most of the animals of Hopeland had migrated there, but even then that was life costly as the female residents banished there all harbored a deep hate for man so often more than not they would chase them all the way back down the slope to the Hopeland borderline of the large forest.

Needless to say, “Hopeland” Kingdom was not a very _hopeful_ place. Well, at least the doctors had hope for their business there.

Now back to Brinkman. Technically, the land is still a part of Hopeland Kingdom, but the royals like to treat it as a separate territory. This is so because all of the residents there—excluding one household and one particular person that will become important later—are females that used to be a part of Hopeland, but were “banished” to Brinkman for either pulling off or participating in an unacceptable crime not exactly worthy of execution. They are forbidden to ever step foot past the borderlines of Brinkman (yes, this included taking the ferry to Tartaunus) and should one be caught doing so, she would be publicly executed (the most common death for them is any kind of stoning).

The year 1200 A.D. may have changed the lands greatly now, but it was nothing compared to the domino-effect tragedy of 1218 A.D. for the county of Filindia.

 

_This is their story._


	2. Important Past Events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Important events that happened before the set year, 1218 A.D., in the next chapter to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : Jumps around a little as well as implied heterosexual sexual intercourse near the end of the chapter. 
> 
> **Note** : The next chapter will not be nearly as jumpy, and follows the characters as they go, switching on and off whenever the opportunity arrives. Also, it'll be a _lot_ longer than this one, I can promise you all that much!

Gold, vibrant red and sapphire was the robe that danced with the wind as the woman ran for the shoreline of Lake Doombreak, the nearest body of water to the Kingdom of Tartaunus. In her arms, a cashew-shaped basket with a half cover. In the basket lied an infant wrapped in two blankets, having been conceived by the woman not even twelve hours ago. The woman knew the day would come when she would be discovered—the signature heterochromia that distinguished a mage hard to overlook,—but she didn’t think it would be so soon. She was only two days sixteen! 

Upon reaching the murky waters, however, the woman knew her end could no longer be avoided and the departure with her only child evident. Taking in a deep breath in an attempt to calm her racing heart, she shifted the basket to balance on her left arm and scooped up what she could of the long robe to kneel down on the wet, rocky edge of the lake. Running across her eyes with the sleeve on her right arm to wipe away the tears, the woman forced a small smile to break her solemn expression as she steadied the basket atop the dark surface of Lake Doombreak. However, as if sensing her dismay, the infant started to cry out, his wails breaking the silence of the settle waves.

“Hush now, child. This is how it has to be, for I cannot change fate.” The woman brushed the small strands of honey blond hair out of the infant’s face, her smile broadening when the infant ceased his incessant crying in favor of opening his startlingly mismatched eyes to stare at her, curious. 

“You of all people will soon come to realize that, as you shall soon face the same fate one day. It is your destiny. I should like to hope that you’ll at least live a little longer than I did.” Her smile faltered as her voice cracked on the few words she spoke, and she bit down hard on her bottom lip to quench the trembling. 

“Just promise me that you’ll never forget this day, continue to love me until your eventual end, and use that love as a tool to ease the hatred for this land that you will most likely feel in the near future. Bless you, my sweet child, and remember—it’s not their fault” she whispered over him before bending down and planting a small kiss on top of his pale forehead. 

“I love you. Farewell, Solluxander _Captor_.”

Shouts were heard not far from her position on the rocky edge, and she was quick to push the basket off into the water, breathing out a sigh of relief when the waves that had started to pick up since her arrival carried it off. At least he would be safe.

Though clueless, the baby lifted his little head and looked over at his mother through glazed, one sapphire and one reddish-brown eye as she was slashed across the back by an armored man’s sword. She took an immediate fall to the ground face-first, her long honey blonde hair catching the wind around her during her descent.

The silver of the sword glinted underneath the sunlight that broke the gray sky and shown down upon the dying woman.

Ten years after that event, the Queen had faced her evident fate by the resistance in the Kingdom of Tartaunus. Even though it was a happier Kingdom now, the group convinced the public that she had to be overthrown due to some disturbing news the resistance had caught whiff of: Queen Meenah was partaking in sexual activities with the _female_ librarian of the castle’s vast library. And it wasn’t just sex for fun. The maids that had shared the information with the resistance informed them that she actually harbored romantic feelings for the woman named Aranea. 

Disgusted and riled up, the citizens had rioted and refused to stop until the Queen’s head was had, even going as far to storm the castle in order to have their wish met. 

Deciding it was in the Kingdom’s best interest, Queen Meenah stepped down from the throne. Looking down at the dirty faces of the crowd and worrying about their muddy shoes on the beautiful surface of her marble floor, the Queen turned her face away from them to address her dear, sweet sister Princess Feferi.

“Sister. I am officially stepping down from my place as Queen here, seeing as the public no longer has any need for me” she fixed the numerous angry expressions with a hateful glare before continuing on. “However, I refuse to let them obtain the throne, so I nominate you to take my place now. Carry on our Mother’s legend!” she had shouted even as the resistance group made their way through the crowd and seized hold of both her arms, dragging her along through the now separating crowd to make way for them. 

Even as Queen Meenah was fated to die now, her most loyal knight had chosen to protect her until the end. Dirk Strider did not die in vain, though, as his younger brother was greatly affected by his act of bravery and later vowed his life to the new Queen, even if it ended up being in the same way that Queen Meenah had gone down—he would stand by her until that judgment day.

Said new Queen—not even fourteen years of age—had been forced to remain in her place as the crowd of citizens had hollered on their way out the double, mahogany doors of the throne room; stunned.

The four golden rods on each end of the diamond and ruby crown looked dull as the headdress rested on top of the empty throne—awaiting its next use.

One night two years after Queen Feferi’s abrupt coronation, the Kingdom experienced yet another tragedy: all the wooden-built houses and items would catch fire at any given moment. The only semi-rational explanation the nobles could conjure was that the wood-smiths, the wood nymph Nitrams, were the source of it all. So, deciding it best that the family be exterminated, the nobles got together with Queen Feferi to have a final say. 

Although the Queen was not exactly for the irrational destruction of the only nymphs the county knew of, she could not disagree with the wild expressions of the resistance that had also come to the meeting, and the suffering that her citizens had been through as a result of the random fires. Though it was with much reluctance and later regret, the Queen “okayed” the charge on the Nitram household.

The only member that had been spared was the youngest of them all, Tavros at age thirteen, who was known for his kindness and generosity to all the citizens he helped whenever someone cried out for it and he was around. No: the resistance couldn’t bear to destroy such pure innocence, so they allowed him to continue on living, even though his whole family had just eradicated before him.

It was the last words of his older brother—Rufioh—that kept him from acting out on hatred:

“Keep on smilin’ lil’ bro, please.”

Around that same time, a young boy had lost his older brother—the High Priest of Hopeland Kingdom—as well as his dear Father, who had done nothing but gave the public hope: preaching for free on God’s will and how they only had to suffer for so long until they were to join him in the Holy Kingdom high in the sky. 

Apparently, the King found no reason for a Priest—nor preacher—of any kind in his village, filling his people with sugar-coated lies is what he thought of them. No, they only needed a King to rule them and give them hope, not some silly peasant of a preacher. So, sending out the best of his subjects, the King had them detained—forever.

The youngest was left to strive for himself, the King seeing no reason to kill off an innocent. However, the King would have never guessed that it would be this same boy that would later cause his nobles such grief—including the nobles of the Kingdom of Tartaunus.

A year prior to these events, a young woman freshly picked off of the market had danced with her respected husband in their splendid home in the forest town of Brinkman, loving the peace that the otherwise hated land provided them with. Her satin, red dress spiraled around her as the man—twenty-four years—spun her in a circle with one finger, her Asian chime for laughter filling the warm abode with their own kind of music. 

However, this happy moment was soon just a fleeting memory, as the man had passed away a year later. He had been ill even before he bought her dowry, but still he chose to respect her and refrained from any form of sexual contact with her beyond kissing. A noble man until death he was, even if he did leave the beautiful girl an incredibly young widow. 

Unfortunately, the girl would face a greater peril than that, for the residents of Hopeland Kingdom had come across a great revelation a year later when the girl’s miraculous witch doctor deeds had gotten around the main town: a witch was causing the extreme weather, and the wondrous witch doctor was their main suspect.

 

Cerulean blue ribbons fell to the floor as the nervous man untied them, the blue corset that the gorgeous woman of sixteen had worn attached to the rich satin skirt of her sapphire dress as a special gift for the anniversary known as their fiftieth get-together. The young woman had been seeing the noble man since she was fourteen, for the man had been greedy and during his time on the market, and couldn’t decide between her and this other, beautiful blonde woman. In the end, he had chosen to legally uphold Cecilia, but met the blue-lipped mystery in secret whenever he could. 

A mistress this ebony-haired and dangerous, blue bedroom eyed woman had been. That is, until they had dared to uphold their “anniversary get-together” in the man’s own abode. It was a dumb move, and the noble knew it, but he didn’t care: he just wanted to release himself into the mysterious woman atop the very sheets that he had with Cecilia, even if he had spoiled the woman with plenty of money to buy herself a similar if not exact bed cover. No, there was nothing like the idea of having two women on a man’s personal bed.

Unfortunately for them, Cecelia had come home earlier than planned, and wandered on into his quarters. Normally she was not allowed to enter his personal quarters without his consent, however, the suspicious sounds coming from said room as she passed on by it worried her, so she barged in of her own free will. 

Her scream had awoken the neighbors, who had immediately sent a page to get a guard afterward.

The mysterious woman was, of course, banished from Hopeland to Brinkman for her unforgivable act, the man revealing everything to the guard; claiming how she had “come onto him” and “forced” him to “play” with her.

Though enraged and borderline pissed off, there was nothing the blue mystery could do to change her predicament, swaying the guard not an option when a man would only believe another man’s word—especially that of a respectable noble.

Cursing his name, the mysterious lady was dragged out to the forest town of Brinkman that night without even so much as a second chance. She swore she would later murder that man if the opportunity ever presented itself to her.

Although the guards that banished her were cruel, the women of Brinkman had accepted her upon entrance once the guards had vanished down the trail to the ferry man, knowing full and well that whatever “deed” she did was man’s fault somehow. They all gave her numerous goodies and led her to a nice home to stay in as a beginner’s gift to “joining the club.”

Maybe the town wasn’t as bad as the main town of Hopeland had made it out to be.


	3. Everyone's Caste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh geez: what basically happens is that all of the characters and their roles are introduced by the first character to be written on passing by them and so on by the next character. If this makes no sense to you, just ignore this summary completely (x'D). Some characters are written mysteriously, but I doubt you will have a hard time figuring out the canon identity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N** : I kind of had a random insomnia moment and just decided to write this in one sitting instead of having you all wait for next Thursday to roll around. Actually, I might just update as quickly as I can before Monday (classes start again for me then). Please do excuse some oocness, though, for it's rather challenging for a few characters when in this particular setting.

“Your highness” a boy with dazzling blue eyes, and a mop of jet black hair bowed to Queen Feferi for a few minutes before unrolling the large scroll he had been holding since he arrived at the castle.

“Go on, Sir Egbert” the Queen responded and rested her right elbow on the armchair of the throne she sat upon, her painted lips quirked into a settle smile as she looked down on the goofy messenger. “What does Hopeland report _this_ time?” Though she would not admit it, the Queen was rather dissatisfied with the news feed lately and overall annoyed by the consistency of it all. The poor messenger had been traveling back-and-forth between the lands for several weeks now, reading off what was technically the same thing occurring but worded differently.

The messenger—Johnathan Egbert—audibly cleared his throat, and only then did he continue onward. “Dearest Feferi, I have received your notice on the assassination occurring in your Kingdom and am sending this to assure you that I am doing my best to locate the witch that is responsible for this series of tragedies.”

“Wait a minute,” the Queen held up her hand, cutting John off so that she could interject. “The King thinks a _witch_ is murdering the nobles? How does he figure that now? I thought we had decided it was a lone male assassin harboring a heavy load of hate for anyone of nobility?”

“Permission to continue on, your highness” was all John could think to say that was appropriate in the presence of her majesty. Though she had expected such an answer, Feferi still sighed in aggravation.

“Go on” she said again, waving her right hand to the right to symbolize he had free will to speak.

“Now I am aware that this bit of news may confuse you, but I assure you that was most definitely the work of a witch, as my consorts saw the geometric proof haggardly written on the wooden floor beneath the body of Sir Michaelis and his wife.” The Queen gasped at this discovery, but pursed her lips and remained silent so that John could finish the entire script. “I know that it will be hard for you to accept this knowledge, as I am just barely keeping it together myself from it, fighting a never-ending internal rage over all the turmoil this witch has caused Hopeland Kingdom, but I must request that you cease your interference in this case and let the people of Hopeland solve the problem—” the Queen rolled her eyes at that. “For it is my Kingdom that shelters the witch and therefore, my duty to extirpate her. Though I look forward to your next response, I ask that it include your official agreement to step down from this matter and allow me to carry my own weight. Signed, His Majesty. P.S., shan’t any other unfortunate assassination occur over in your Kingdom, I apologize in advance, but please refrain from ever bringing it up to me if it does happen.” John rolled up the scroll and placed it back into the cloth roll on his bag, then pulled out one of his blank scrolls (he had the location of them memorized by now) as well as his quill and ink bottle from the satchel he wore around his waist. “Whenever you wish to proceed with recording the response, your highness.”

“You know, it _reely_ gets my blood boiling that he thinks he can order me around like that. I am a Queen, for Christ’s sake!” the young Queen shouted in her fit of anger and made a violent shake of her head, the beaded tassels at the ends of the golden rods of her headdress following with the vicious motion. However, her face only grew paler when she realized that John had dipped his quill and had his hand poised to write. “Oh for crying out loud—don’t glubbin’ write that, fish!”

At first, the messenger had looked dumbfounded until he realized that he hadn’t really taken note of the dialect the Queen had been speaking in. It was far from her “writing voice.” “Oh, right; my apologies, your highness!” he bent down for a rather stiff bow and didn’t rise until she said so. After that, he dipped his quill again just in case it had dried over the course of their small talk, and got ready to record her exact words. Being a scribe was quite a difficult job in his opinion. John looked up at his Queen with twinkling blue eyes and nodded his head once.

“Dear King Ampora, I have received word of your response to my last scroll safely by my loyal subject, Sir Johnathan Egbert. ~~If you do not receive this by that very person, then this is a false message. Then again, I would like to think that a thief would be smart enough to skip over that line, so feel free to completely disregard it Sir Egbert. Meaning I want you to scratch that last bit or ignore it when you read this to the King. Anyways~~ , I will adhere to your request for my concession, but in turn I ask that you no longer report to me on your Kingdom’s series of unfortunate events, nor request for the help of my troops if the hunt gets too tough for you to handle—do we have an agreement now? Good. I pray that the witch trials go on _swimmingly_ for you, though, and hope that your skies _reely_ do clear up once the witch is eradicated. I bid you good day now, King Opheacus, and eagerly await your next verbal letter myself” the Queen finished up rather quick and waited until the resounding scratching had ceased before reminding John to sign her name. The messenger then bowed to her with the usual “your highness” before turning around to depart for the second time that day. 

“And make sure you come back before dusk so that you can read it to me immediately!” the Queen had shouted out to him before he vanished outside the double mahogany doors, then sunk down in the hard seat of her throne. 

Although John had heard full and well what she said, he knew that what she really meant was that he got back before her bedtime so that he could scribe the day’s diary entry, which was always a pain in his rear. If women were allowed to learn the written word, his job would have been so much easier. Then again, he wouldn’t even _have_ a job in the first place if that had been so.

Nodding to the Queen’s closest knight, Davidson Strider, Johnathan Egbert jogged across the wooden bridge that had still been set down over the alligator-ridden river ditch—that helped to protect the castle—since he had entered. The day had only still just begun for him (even though it was currently midday), and already he was exhausted to the core. 

Passing by the many citizens wandering about the busy brick road, John gave curt nods to those that paid attention to him until he reached his favorite destination, as of late: the ferry man’s post. His chapped lips quirked up into a wide grin when he saw the familiar blonde bob of the doctor, and he waved his hand in front of her face until she took notice of his sudden presence. Of course, the woman could never have dreamed of upholding her medicinal job without pretending to be male, having had to cut her hair short and bind her blossoming bosom so that she was flat enough to get away with it. Of course, John didn’t know her real gender at first, but he was a man of good instinct and could tell when someone feigned the opposite gender over time (though he still had yet to meet a man pretending to be a woman, which made no sense to try in a world where man thrived and the majority of women suffered).

“Hey there! Busy, too?” Unfortunately, John lacked knowledge of her given name—or any name, really—so he had to refrain from using any kind of formal greeting when around her. This also included the ferry man, who was nearing the deck as John greeted his daily ferry-riding friend.

“Good day to you, too, friend. Has your day already begun or no?” the doctor turned her head and spoke in the best male voice she could muster. John hated it when she spoke in that tone around him, although he did figure that it was better to take precautions to one’s surroundings before letting loose.

“Unfortunately, yes, it has” his broad smile faltered at the memory of his first meeting with the King that day, but it rose again when he thought about the reward he would be receiving at the end of the day. That was it—the thought of getting paid was what kept him going nowadays. “And it’s not nearly over, either.”

Their conversation was cut short when the obese noble had waddled on past them, cursing under his breath about the absurdity of the bumpy ride that he, a noble, had just faced. “Uh, hey there, you two. Uh, H-Hopeland?” the ferry man called out to them, his voice squeaking at the end of his question like it normally did.

“Yeah—”

“Have you ever known me to go to Brinkman now, ferry man?” the doctor cut John off, and then boarded the long wooden boat before him, claiming “ladies first.” John was about to remind her that she was no lady in her disguise, but decided he better not and boarded on after her in silence.

“So, uh, how have you two—been?” the ferry man broke the silence when the boat was reaching the halfway point, preferring to talk when facing the thick fog rather than suffer it quietly.

“Oh you know—the usual running back-and-forth between the Kingdoms. Doesn’t pay nearly as much as most jobs but eh, what can I do to change it now after doing it for so many years?” John was the first to speak out, and the ferry man turned his head around to reveal his usual banana-shaped smile. It was the only feature of his that ever showed underneath the large, dark hood he wore on a daily basis. Creepy, yes, but John had no room nor reason to judge the man for it.

“That sucks, I guess.” The ferry man could think of no other appropriate response to John’s sarcastic comment. John didn’t seem to mind, though, and just sat still in his seat, quiet as the snow that seldom fell in their county.

“As for myself, business has been booming as always. Got a couple cases over in Hopeland, but that shouldn’t come as a shock to you, ferry man” the blonde-bobbed doctor eventually responded with her own inquiry, finding the new silence unbearable. “The people catch all kinds of things over there; have to wear my face mask for protection when I work or even wander around. Although for some reason it always seems to be disease-safe around the baker’s. You should stop there sometime, ferry man—he has some delicious pastries, if I do say so myself…” the doctor continued to babble on until they were only a few minutes away from Hopeland’s ferry port, and only then did she put on her game face.

“By the way, what shall I call you two? I mean, we’ve only been riding together for two years or so now, have we not? I would like to at least know your last names.”

“Ah, but it is the last name that is the most important, uh, isn’t it?” the ferry man responded in an instant, a slight frown on his dainty features. 

“I do not think so, ferry man. Besides, my first name is too precious to me to give out” the doctor responded to him, giving John no room to put his two cents in.

“Well, I don’t really care about hiding names so you two can call me Sir Egbert if you want. It’s what the Queen calls me, and so does Knight Strider so you two might as well do the same.” John burst out before the ferry man could respond again, though he appeared a little too excited to share as a result.

“Doctor Lalonde is fine, then.”

“Uh, uh…” the ferry man pulled up to the port and looked back at them with an apologetic smile. “Guess I’ll, uh, tell you when you two return later?” The messenger and doctor shared a look with one another before eventually nodding to the ferry man and exiting the boat together, ignoring the comments they received from the impatient nobles that were waiting to ride over to the Kingdom of Tartaunus for God-only-knew what.

Though they had walked for quite some time together (in silence, of course), the two had split up when passing up Hopeland’s best baker’s tent, as Doctor Lalonde had chosen to approach the thick cloth set-up and purchase her favorite pastry.

John pulled the tight black clothing—that hung over his blouse—over his mouth and nose for protection from the diseases that permeated the air, gripped the straps over his shoulders to his scroll-holding pack, and then set off down the brick road to the miles-away castle.

“Good day to you, too, Ma’am. How may I help you today? Cream-puff special?” the baker fixed the doctor with his signature lazy smile, moving his hand above his display as means of showing it off. “Or would you like to try one of my mini-pies, popular with the ladies.”

“Huh,” the doctor shook her head with the slightest smile on her pale face. “I still don’t know how you can tell, but you’re always able to see through my disguises. Cream puff please.”

“As expected,” the baker clicked his tongue, and then winked at her upon handing her a few wrapped cream puffs. “Quarter of a Euro, _please_ ” he tilted his head at her and waggled his brows, making her laugh aloud as she retrieved the cent from the small pouch at her side. 

“Always manage to make me laugh, too. Hope you have a good one, baker” the doctor picked up the wrapped pastries, and only then placed the cent in the center of the man’s moonlight palm. They exchanged friendly smiles with one another until the doctor shuffled on through the crowd to get to her first job, and the baker a new customer to distract him.

Not far from the baker’s tent, a girl with ratted black hair and crudely-made circular glasses played beautiful music from her precious nickel flute, a small smile painted on her ivory features and jade green eyes shining with delight as she swayed her hips to the free-fall of the notes she let loose, in her own world. However, she was not completely detached from the world, and would shoot casual glances at the baker, watching his actions as closely as she could. 

Though he pretended not to notice, the baker knew full and well of the flute-playing girl’s glances, but would only humor her with a look every so often, not wanting to appear suspicious to his customers.

However, the girl did not only play around the baker’s tent, for she liked to follow along the brick road, cheering the solemn citizens up the best she could. While she could not fix the gray sky above her that was the major reason for the gloom of the city folk, she could at least share her carefree spirit with them through song and ease their sorrows for the moment, their closed eyes and overall relaxed expressions fueling her as well. So, dancing along then, the girl stopped in front of a tent some feet away from the baker’s. Peering inside the pulled-back flap of the thick cloth while still managing to play the right notes, the girl nodded her head at the blacksmith. The tall, burly dark-skinned man had ceased pounding his stone hammer on top of the red-hot metal of his current sword commission, expression unreadable and covered in sweat just like the front of his shirt. Choosing to move on from there, the girl backed up and turned around to head back along the same way. After all, ogling the baker was fun! Unfortunately, a certain female thief had stolen her show by snatching up one of his signature mini pies and running elsewhere, the baker hot on her trail in a heartbeat. 

At least he had her to watch his stand for him.

Moving as fast as her feet could take her through the trees, a woman with long ebony hair held back by a rubber band and dressed in peasant garb clutched onto the pastry she had oh-so-easily stolen. Just as easily as she had captured the little delight, however, the baker had caught up to her and pinned her against one of the many trees of the otherwise forbidden forest. Considering they had crossed the Brinkman borderline meant that the woman was most likely a part of the female population, too, which also meant she had been banished for some unacceptable deed. Though a little horrifying to take into consideration, the baker wasn’t necessarily all that good either, as the citizens of Hopeland seemed to think he was, so who was he to judge?

Holding out his hand to her, the baker offered the thief a more defined smile—though it didn’t reach his eyes—and waited for the pastry to be given back to him.

“Damn you’re good,” the thief looked him up and down as she spoke, still clutching onto the little pie.

“And you’re a thief. You know,” the baker leaned down closer so that his face was only inches away from the thief’s, his hot breath blowing out onto the woman’s nose, and she wrinkled it as an immediate response. “If you were that desperate, you could have just _motherfuckin’_ asked for it for free, and I would have been more than happy to oblige.”

Pushing the baker back so that she wasn’t so constricted, the woman made a dry-sounding chuckle before throwing the pie down on the ground. “Yeah, well, that kind of takes the _fun_ and _thrill_ I get out of the thievery now, doesn’t it?” The woman turned up her nose at him before stomping off to her large house in the forest town called Brinkman, lifting her middle finger high into the air in hopes that the baker would see it even as she walked away.

The baker did see the finger, and only smirked at the humorous display as he wandered back down to his little baker business in Hopeland Kingdom, hoping that the witch had gotten the hint to watch it for him.

Upon reaching her “humble abode,” the woman stripped off the hideous garb she had adorned to better conceal her appearance in case of a possible recognition, and then wandered on into her personal bedroom to change into the sapphire blue silk dress she had set on the bed prior to her thieving event. Once that was done, the woman walked about the house with her hands behind her back, tying the ribbon on the corset top of the dress. However, movement not far from outside the window she faced had caught her immediate attention. Walking closer to get a better view, the woman narrowed her eyes and scoffed in disgust when she realized who it was.

Black as night truffles of hair billowing around her due to the pick-up of the wind, a young porcelain doll of a woman had knelt down before a small headstone in the “backyard” of her house. Moving the ruffles of scarlet aside so as not to dirty her dress, the woman set the bouquet of flowers, that she had gathered from down the slope where the Hopeland and Brinkman borderline was in front of the tombstone, whispering sweet nothings to her late husband in hopes that he might hear her on the other side.

The wind picked up then, blowing some fallen leaves around her in a sort of tornado-like twist. Her ruby red-painted lips curled up into an innocent smile at the settle movement, believing it was a sign from the dead that her words had been heard and were appreciated. However, a swift movement among the trees not so far-off from her yard had her standing up, for she had been expecting the figure to appear. If only she could catch her.

Said mysterious figure had made it to her small hut deep within the forest town of Brinkman, free of any followers. She walked up to the front porch, the old gray hound lowering his lifted wrinkled ear that had been listening for any non-recognizable footsteps and staring on at the girl with half-lidded eyes. Bending over to pat the old hound’s head as a means of affection, the girl laughed at his floppy ears before looking up at the dangling shrunken heads from the porch’s awning in disdain, wondering when her time would come and how she would pass on into the next life.

Ah well—no need to worry just yet. As long as the Kingdom went on believing that the widow was the witch, she was safe. And her rituals would go on undisturbed until she got what she wanted: peace. Stepping onto the porch now, she dipped her free hand into the large clay vase next to the door in order to gather some salt, then sprinkled it in a line along the door crack behind her after she entered the hut. Only then did she turn around and take a big whiff of the air, the scent of oak tree, sage, and multiple spices filling her nostrils and cleansing her soul. Exhaling slowly, the girl closed her eyes and took a few moments to connect with the spiritual energy of the forest outside the safety of her hut. After that, the girl allowed her eyelids to literally snap open before getting down to “ritual” business. Picking up some sage, the girl wandered out to her backyard to start the fire and retrieve the little gift that Jameson was supposed to capture for her while she was away on flute duty. 

A little while later when she had gotten the fire started and singed the tips of the bundled sage for some necessary cleansing, the girl heard Jameson’s call to signify when the baker was near-by. Smiling now, the girl went about with the cleansing ceremony and waited patiently for the baker to step foot out from his hiding place in the woods. Though she appreciated his disturbing ability to blend in with the shadows, it worried her sometimes when she lacked knowledge of his exact location and when he was to pop out, potentially frightening the crap out of her. 

The witch felt a lot better when the baker did make himself known, the light of the fire illuminating his tall and lanky form, as well as his ridiculously unruly, puffy mess he called “curls.” Clad in his nightfall leather outfit he claimed his disguise for whenever he went out to see the witch and aid her in her rituals, the baker placed his hands on his hips and fixed the witch with his serious business expression.

“Can we just get this done and _motherfuckin’_ over with all _motherfuckin’_ ready, or do I have to all up and _motherfuckin’_ stand here and stare at the miraculous flame of the Messiahs for ten minutes while you _motherfuckin’_ ‘cleanse my soul?’” The baker tapped his pointed boot in an impatient manner, waiting for her to run the sage over his body.

Though she was a little annoyed by his impatience, the girl walked over and made quick to cleanse him, too excited to go about the ritual to care all that much about the baker’s rude behavior (when compared to his friendly atmosphere to his customers in the morning when he was selling goods).

Once the ritual was completed and the rabbit’s blood used as their sacrifice, the baker exchanged farewells with the witch and headed back down the hill. Dancing among the shadows as he did, no one could ever trace him when he was in the groove—not one soul. When he had reached the back of his cottage-like house (he had taken the back ways of the Hopeland half of the forest to get there), he caught sight of the investigator looking to nab some poor souls that were up and out after curfew, and ducked inside his house through the back door. If he had been caught, he would have been stuck spending jail time in the basement cells of Hopeland Kingdom’s castle, which was a huge no-no for him being of the respectable baker status he was. Plus, the investigator hated his guts and would have _loved_ to see his pretty face behind rusty bars. Of course, he equally hated her just as much and would have her detained had he been given the opportunity to, but so far there was no such luck so he was better off sticking to the shadows and ignoring her existence in general.

The investigator, a small woman with crazy and short orange-red curls, didn’t exactly like her job. Sure, it was kind of catlike, but walking around at night and looking for late-nighters and teenage goofballs was far from her ideal career. Driving the carriage was a hell of a lot better than that, actually. Stopping in her tracks, the woman piqued her hearing and narrowed her hazel eyes at the sound of the violin that carried on into the otherwise soundless night. She was going to catch that pesky violin player one of these days, oh yes she would—

“Hey! Watch where you’re going, God damn woman of Eve!” a man just as short as she had bumped into her then, as if realizing his mistake for making his presence known to the investigator of all people, dashed off into the night, coated head-to-toe in black clothing. “F-fuck! Don’t follow me now, I mean it!”

However fast as she was, the investigator could not catch up to the short man and pursed her lips in anger, a low growl escaping her. She could have had someone! Swiveling on her heels then, the woman decided to carry on back to her own home, turning in for the night.

The short man had not given up chase, though, and ran straight for the ferry dock, thankful that it was one of the ferry man’s late nights. Though at first the sound of a violin had stopped him dead in his tracks, when the short assassin had caught side of the phantom-masked and cloaked figure that snuck on past the assassin like a cold breeze, the angry man had forced his feet to carry him onward and practically dove on into the ferry boat, surprising the two passengers as well as the ferry man himself. 

“Woah there, uh, budd—”

“To Tartaunus—now! And don’t you dare fucking delay either, you monkey-faced Charon!” the short man had cut the ferry man off and stood up, wiping at his scratched nose from his hard landing. The other two passengers just sat in silence, sharing only one quick glance between them.

“O-okay. These two were just, uh, g-going there as well, heh” the ferry man responded and moved the long oar to get the boat going. The short man sat down on the first bench of the three total, cursing himself under his breath something along the lines of “stupid fuckass” like a personal mantra.

Upon arrival to the Kingdom of Tartaunus’ port, the assassin made a mad dash for the dock, throwing his fare money at the ferry man in a hurry as he ran, although some of the coins had fallen into the water and were not retrievable. 

Patting him on the shoulder, John offered him one of his goofy grins with a thumbs-up as he handed the ferry man his fare. “Don’t worry about it, Nitram—I’m sure he won’t be back anytime soon with the way he was running, haha!”

“To be honest, Sir Egbert, that just worries me even more for his safety” Doctor Lalonde spoke out as John exited the ship and handed the ferry hand her fare money. “I think he just might be back once he realizes just who you are, Sir Egbert.”

“Ah no, you think?” John’s broad smile faltered at that thought.

“Did I not just say that? Men can be so dense sometimes…”

“Hey!” the ferry man shouted over at the doctor, a little offended by her comment.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean you, sweetie. You’re far better than most men I’ve met, and I’ve met a lot of men.” The doctor waved the ferry man good-bye and only turned around when she was sure he couldn’t see her anymore. Now she could return to her home and crash for the night, beat from the hard day’s work she had faced.

As the messenger walked on ahead of the doctor, however, he was a little worried to have caught sight of the black clothed man running off to noble territory. So he did what someone of his position only could do: he told Sir Strider. Unfortunately, Sir Strider saw that as some kind of misunderstood circumstance and waved it off, telling John he was “delusional” and needed to “get some rest” but first “report back to the Queen.”

Where did the short man run off to now? The house of the duke of Tartaunus, of course. Why not aim high? Too bad for him the duchess had to wheedle her way on out of it, and a wild goose chase had arisen as she ran off in the direction of the castle, knowing full and well that she would definitely be safe there. While the duchess had managed to get away with her life, begging to Sir Strider to let her in, the duke did not and passed away rather painfully as he lied on the lush center room rug back in the duchess’ household. 

She was noble-less as well as penniless now, and had no other option but to seek residence with the Queen. Possibly forever. Fortunately, some good did come out of it since she was able to accurately describe the basic outline of the mysterious assassin. The Queen was pleased to learn that her hypothesis had been correct, and that the assassin was indeed a vengeful man and not some second-rate witch. 

The duchess was soon made the Queen’s personal tailor after she had shared of her only craftsmanship, and was to share a room with the Kingdom’s seer, whom the duchess hadn’t even known existed before until the unfortunate event that befell her. She was an interesting woman of around the same height at the duchess, though her hair was a light brown compared to the duchess’ midnight spiky bob, and her hair was almost shoulder-length. _And blind_ ; the duchess couldn’t forget about that obvious trait that sometimes inconvenienced her when she was on duty and the seer couldn’t find the way to the bathroom.

The following day, the witch had awoken to Jameson’s affectionate cleansing of her whole face…with his saliva. Disgusted, the witch had gathered what little self-cleaning materials she owned and headed down for the river down-slope, and past the Hopeland border. When she reached said river, however, she heard an unfamiliar musical tune. It was coming from some unknown area to her near the beginning of the forest so, curious, the witch left her items in a rotting spot of a tree for the time being and ventured off, following the mirthful music the best she could. Eventually, she had happened upon what looked to be some old fallen ruin structure covered in moss. There were only two noticeable stones left and between them…was a man? She couldn’t really tell from the distance she was standing at behind a tree, but she could definitely make out the instrument-playing forest animals. Yeah, that wasn’t odd at all.

Snaking on through the tree as swiftly as possible for her, the witch had stopped at the back end of one of the two stone hedges (the right one from where the man stood between them), and peered out from behind the back edge of it. Yep, the dancing figure was definitely a man from what she could tell. Well, a really lanky one (lankier than the baker; and that was saying something), but the figure was still a man. Though she couldn’t quite make out his face, for he was moving too fast and with such vigor that she could swear he knew of her presence and was concealing his face from her view on purpose. What did he have to hide that she didn’t? 

Then the man stood still and tall, and the witch could make out now that the man had been dancing in front of a…heap of dirt. That didn’t make any sense, unless he buried—oh wait, _now_ she noticed the makeshift cross and sage burning on top of the pile. Wait a minute, he used _sage_?! 

“You can come out now, witch.”


	4. The Witch Hunt Fail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to get spicey as the Hopeland King refuses to believe that a man alone murdered his nobles, at least not without the aid of a witch. So he then sends out a group of knights to rid of the Kingdom's only witch suspect. Unfortunately for the knights, the witch manages to escape and moves on elsewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N** : I was going to have it posted sooner, but I got a little distracted from semi-important things. Anyways, I will try to have the next chapter done by Thursday, but I did just start school and am already receiving more homework than I need in my life. To top it off, the next chapter is actually the longest one (yes, longer than chapter two) of the whole story, and will take quite some time to write because of. In that case, I'm not making any promises here haha. Hope you enjoy this one, though and keep in mind that the drama is only beginning!

“How did you…?” the witch’s jade green eyes had widened in shock at the mysterious man’s words, and she stumbled back on her right foot. The only person besides herself that knew of her true identity was the baker, and he wouldn’t dare tell someone else. Especially not some thin-clothed stranger dancing over a grave. Nevertheless, the witch chose to brave the mysterious man if he so tried to attack her, and walked away from the safety of the ruins’ edge. “Never mind that now—what are you doing dancing over a grave and riling up the forest animals?” Instead of answering her right away, the man stepped over the heap of dirt and walked around the back of the second stone hedge. Alarmed, the witch jumped backward a few feet and watched for the man to reappear from behind the end of the other stone hedge, poised to attack her. However, this never happened.

“Can you trust me, Witch?” called the mysterious man from somewhere in front of the stone hedges. Daring to peer out again, the witch returned to her previous post and breathed a sigh of relief when the man came into sight. He was standing behind the makeshift cross of the grave now, except he had a thick robe of gold, ruby and sapphire colors on; a cowl was also worn in addition to conceal his facial features, which only confirmed the witch’s hypothesis that he had something to hide.

“If I said yes would you tell me who you are, poltergeist?” Okay, he probably wasn’t a poltergeist, but the label he kept referring to her as had started to grate on her nerves and she wanted to throw some kind of comeback at him. If he struck out at her with a rude comment, the witch would make fun of the “poltergeist’s” obvious lisp that she would have missed had his last question not been ringing on in her head over and over again.

The sound of his laughter echoed against the stone hedges, and the man moved away from the makeshift cross and disappeared from the witch’s line of sight since he had walked past the right stone hedge from where she stood in between the two. Worried she’d lose him, the witch headed past the right hedge and inclined her head to see where the man was headed.

However, the man was nowhere to be found.

***

No time to stop for a proper breakfast or else he’d miss the ferry, Johnathan Egbert pushed past all kinds of citizens that were crowding the market street near the ferry port. 

“So sorry, Ma’am!” he had called out to one particular woman who shot him quite the look, pulling her young boy aside and whispering something to him. Oh well, John couldn’t afford to waste time apologizing to every person he bumped into. They should understand the minute they see the many scrolls sticking out of his pack, after all. Inconsiderate peasants, the lot of them.

Reaching his second destination for the day (which happened to always be the ferry dock), John nodded to the familiar blonde bobbed woman that stood in front of him. “Guess who?” he said with a barely audible laugh, waving his hands in front of the doctor’s face from his stance behind her.

“I don’t have to guess when your ink-stained hands are the only thing in sight” the doctor responded in her false falsetto, a small smile gracing her features as she moved her head to look behind her at the silly messenger. He flashed her a wide grin in an instant, revealing his buck teeth. The messenger then walked around the woman, turned around to face her, outstretched his arms on either side of him, and walked backwards down the wooden boards of the dock.

“Hey, at least that means I’m doing my job! What about you, Doctor Lalonde? Save any lives?” John stopped when he was teetering off the edge of the dock and let his hands fall back to his side with a loud smack against his thighs. “How was your night, doctor—filled with adventures?” 

There the messenger went off about adventures again, thought the doctor. He should really just invest in an adventure of his own already to get the idea out of his head. Once he realized what risks they entailed, he’d soon move on from the topic.

“First of all, you should know how severe some cases are that I take up. As usual, many die in my care and there is nothing I can do about it. At least I tried, is all I can say to the relatives when they blame me for their loss. On a happier note, I did help a young girl over in Hopeland Kingdom yesterday that had been bleeding profusely from a wound, and she is recovering rather remarkably now. How about you share the latest political issue with me now, Sir Egbert” the doctor had gradually walked up to the messenger during her response until she was three inches in front of him. The messenger waggled his brows at her serious face before swiveling on his heels to face the dark waters.

Taking in a deep breath, the messenger closed his blue eyes and relished in the cool touch of the soft breeze against his skin. “And _you_ should know that I am forbidden to reveal the content of the scrolls to anyone other than who is meant to hear the scripted word. Anyways—here comes our best friend the ferry man!” John laughed and looked back at the doctor with glistening blue eyes. Though he went through some serious verbal treatment from the royals when he was merely a messenger, the boy always managed a smile that he wore proudly in front of them. He refused to let the royals get his spirit down.

“Well if it isn’t my, uh, favorite two people…!” The large ferry had come to a halt in front of John, the side of it against the end of the wooden dock and the ferry man smiling over at them like any other given day. “Bright today, isn’t it?”

“Indeed it is, ferry man.” The doctor had, once again, beat John to entering the boat first even though he was literally right in front of it. Shaking his head at her rude gesture, John forced any snide remark he would have liked to have said to her at that moment with a goofy grin.

“Shame it isn’t so over at Hopeland Kingdom though” John commented on their conversation as he carefully stepped on into the boat, and then wandered over to the first bench to sit next to the doctor. “But I like getting the chance to wear my cool mask over my face, haha!” The doctor shook her head at John’s childish remark, though she couldn’t say she disliked that side of the messenger; it brought some joy to her depressing life.

“So, uh, Hopeland it is. Uhhh, any objections?” the ferry man had hiccupped in the middle of the word “objection,” and was mildly embarrassed about it. “S-sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for, ferry man? And to Hopeland it is, as usual” Doctor Lalonde lifted her head and looked on at the hooded man with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry! I mean, not sorry? Heh heh.” The ferry man shifted the long oar and off the boat went, the doctor sighing at the ferry man’s response while the messenger next to her hummed a nonsensical tune. Well, whatever made him happy.

“In any case, how was your late night on the job, ferry man?” the doctor asked, feeling the need to fill in the growing awkward silence.

“It was, uh, okay I guess…but always kind of, er, scary.” By “scary,” he meant the suspicious characters that often boarded his ferry Tuesday and Thursday nights when he stayed out past midnight. Actually, that night in particular had been a little too frightening for him—especially after he flipped through the book the shady man left behind.

 

_The night had been cool as usual, and a light breeze could just barely be made out against the tan skin beneath the ferry man’s thick hood. The jubilant man had dropped the messenger and doctor off a few minutes ago, and was just about to sail off when a familiar hoarse voice shouted after him. He sounded out of breath as well as appeared to be in a hurry to escape Tartaunus. So he forced the long boat to curve backward, wondering what was freaking the man out._

_“Hello there, Sir. A-are you alright?” the ferry man asked the small male once he had reached the boat. “Uh, where to?”_

_“No time for that just go—now!” the short man yelled at the ferry man as he swung his body over the edge rim of the boat, sliding onto the first bench with reddened cheeks and covered head-to-toe in black clothing. There were two sickles in his hand and the right one was suspiciously red. The ferry man did not question him any further._

_“U-uuuuhhh, I kind of need to…know the location.”_

_“Brinkman, God! Fucking hurry up man!”_

_“O-okay, S-sir!” And the ferry man did exactly that: hurried it along the dark waters of Lake Doombreak. The ride was silent, save for the heavy breathing of the short man behind him, but the ferry man could hear his own heart pounding in his ears from fear that the man might try to attack him just for being witness to his…murder weapons? The only other sound was a nail-scratching-on-parchment resonance around him, echoing off of the waters and grating on the ferry man’s nerves. Just what was the short man behind him doing? The ferry man didn’t dare look, but he figured it out when the boat had stopped in front of the dim Brinkman port light and the man jumped right off of the boat. He didn’t even pay the fare! However, he did leave a little something behind: a black leather-bound packet of parchment on the bench. The short man was in such a hurry that he must have forgotten all about it!_

_Picking up the book now, the ferry man lifted his head and called out to the short man—but he had already crossed out of ear shot._

“Any event in particular bother you last night?” The ferry man snapped out of his reverie when the doctor spoke out again, worry written on her face since the ferry man had gone silent for a while. “You can always tell me, ferry man.”

“Here we go with your therapy sessions again...”

“Oh keep quiet, Sir Egbert. You know I only want to help people” the doctor bonked her hand atop the messenger’s head, and he laughed at her serious playfulness.

“Well there was a, um, short angry man that showed up after you both left. He, uh, left a book behind…I added it to my, er, collection over there” the ferry man looked behind him in favor of pointing toward his fantasy book collection he carried with him in case of a lack of passengers.

“Oh yeah, I had nearly forgotten about that little stack you have going on over there,” the doctor glanced down at the pile behind the third and last bench underneath the half wooden hood of the boat (for rainy days and complaining nobles).

“It uh, used to be bigger. People like to steal from me…they’re sneaky. Especially the, uh, noble women who secretly read.” The ferry man would never forget about the green duchess that had made do with one of his books. Too bad for her it was the most boring one.

“So I’ve heard…anyways, it looks like we’re here!” The doctor stood up as the boat neared the wooden dock. John soon joined her with an unbreakable smile even as he pulled the black mask over his mouth and nose. “I shall be seeing you later tonight, and hopefully not past curfew this time. I sincerely apologize for that, ferry man.”

“O-oh no need! It was my late night, anyways!” the ferry man forced the long boat to a halt and flashed them his signature smile.

“Heh, bye!” the messenger waved back at him when the doctor had stepped onto the dock, then followed after her. The future passengers that had been waiting by the bell shook their heads at the two, finding it odd that they actually spoke to the ferry man.

As the ferry man pulled away, the messenger and doctor wandered on down the brick road toward the market area. It was easier for John to reach the castle, passing the multitude of business stands. This time, however, he chose to stop with Doctor Lalonde at the baker’s stand since he had missed breakfast that morning.

“Good day, baker. The usual for me, and I don’t know about my friend here, but I’m sure he’d love to try your excellent bread” the doctor greeted the baker in a false falsetto (as usual).

“H-hey! I can order for myself!” the messenger dropped his jaw at the doctor’s remark, but was aware that it was only a playful inquiry and left it at that. “Yeah, I’ll try a slice of your signature bread and maybe a milk bottle.”

“Ah, first of the day to want a bottle of milk! You do know that they come pretty pricey now, right, Sir?” the baker said while wrapping up a couple of cream puffs for the doctor, looking at John with a raised black brow. They were only expensive because he had to go out of his way to obtain them from the farmer a mile away from his personal abode.

“That’s fine!” the messenger flashed him a toothy grin and bounced on his toes, his hunger almost taking over him. He could only imagine what it was like to be a starving peasant, ravenous and battling delirium.

“That’ll be a quarter of a coin as usual, Ma’am” the baker winked at her as she produced her cent to pay him; the messenger was confused at how he knew her true identity.

“Wha…?” the messenger started, but was completely ignored and had to wait for the baker to help a new customer before he was given what he requested, the doctor leaving his side without saying good-bye. Rude.

-

“Did I not jus’ tell ‘er ta stay out a’ the matter a’ the assassinations?! Gah! Woman never listens, honestly!” A muscular man covered head-to-toe in gold jewelry as well as violet armor glared down at the messenger. He was quite the intimidating character, and John loathed it when he yelled at him. He was only the messenger! “First a’ all, tell ‘er ta stop meddlin’ an’ drop it.”

“Would you like that to be recorded as your exact words, your majesty?” It took all of John’s willpower to refrain from squeaking under the man’s menacing stare.

“No, fool! Figure it out! Anyways, yer ta also tell ‘er that the witch suspect is ta be finished once an’ for all tonight, an’ I ain’t hearin’ nothin’ else. It’s obvious that she had a hand in it, and I’m sick a’ havin’ my men investigatin’ when it’s so blatantly obvious that that there widow of Brinkman is ta one responsible. Now get out of my face, mouse!” the King bellowed out and then laughed in triumph when the messenger cringed, scrambled, and dashed toward the door after bowing to him. 

“An’ don’t forget ta inform the public, either! I want them stormin’ ‘er place tonight before curfew!” 

***

Nightfall had come quicker than the lady in red would have liked, and she found herself stuck in the middle of the pitch black forest. She thought she had been walking forever when she finally started to recognize her surroundings, the blue exotic woman’s home clear as day to her. Red-painted lips turned up into a smile, and the widow picked up the pace, pushing stray branches aside on her way.

It was the bright orange and yellow colors that broke the black of the night that had her stopping in her tracks. That was her home on fire! There were shouts from men, cruel and distasteful as they cracked jokes about her witch doctor career. From what she gathered about the event, they had come to kill her. 

“Hey, did you hear something chap?”

Heart pounding in her ears, the widow turned on her black flats’ heels, running on past the dark trees that looked on at her like demons. Her silky red dress fluttered behind her and she snapped so many twigs but she didn’t care; she had to get out of there as fast as she could, and pray that she make it out of the Kingdom alive. She had been running so fast that she forgot the forest was on a slope, and stumbled over a rock she had stubbed her toe on even through her shoe. Hitting the Earth hard, she groaned and rolled on over to lay on her back, her breath coming out in short pants and fogging up above her in the cold night air. Swallowing a huge gulp of air, the widow forced herself to sit back up, though her body ached. Standing now, she wobbled on her feet before she picked up into a run again, male voices not far from behind her. How long had they been following her?!

Dim light not far from her reach now, the widow called out to the ferry boat—it was starting to move away from the port! Running as fast as her skinny out-of-shape body allowed, the widow started waving her hands about in the air and even whistling to get his attention. The two passengers on his boat were the ones that noticed her emergency tactics, and she stopped in front of the bell that hung on a stand in case the ferry man was nearby but not close enough. She wrung the bell even though it was clear that the two passengers were persuading the ferry man to turn around. The widow could never be too careful.

Moving backward in order to effectively pull up against the dock, the ferry boat rubbed up against the wood and creaked. “Heh heh, sorry about that Ma’am.”

Easing herself over the edge and into the large boat, the widow nodded at the hooded man with a small smile, though her eyebrows were creased with worry. Men’s shouts could be heard from the woods. She sat down on the front bench, but with good distance between her and the other two passengers. “I don’t suppose you could be quick to leave. I am in a hurry, if you couldn’t tell” she asked him in a soft tone, red-painted lips quivering.

“Might you be the suspected witch?” the feminine-looking male passenger proposed, leaning forward to look on at the widow since the other male passenger was blocking his view.

Lips quirked up into a sheepish smile, the widow leaned forward as well to speak to passenger one more properly, her black tresses falling over her shoulder as she did so. “I may be said witch doctoring widow, but I assure you that I am not an actual witch.” She paused for good measure. “They burned down my house, my home. I have nowhere better to go than the opposite Kingdom. Do you think I will be able to take up residence there?”

“Haha, I doubt that!”

“Sir Egbert!” passenger number one bonked passenger number two on the head, and shook “his” head. “Look, I’m sure you can find some way.” The doctor leaned back again and tapped her chin, as if contemplating something. “I could probably let you stay with me, but it would be very briefly. You would have to wear something much more ‘poor,’ of course as well as appear to be ill, though. I have plenty of rags at my place to suit you up in for the time being.”

“I would advise you, uh, cut your hair too. The length is…uhh…intimidating?” the ferry man added, however at a loss for the right words. More like he just didn’t want to resort to using “witchy.”

“Why thank you so much, good Sir! Though may I ask why you would do this for me? I have no way of repaying you, either…but I do plan to do so!” the widow cheered up and looked over at the doctor with glistening eyes. Said doctor chuckled while passenger two waved his arms about to get their attention, annoyed that they had ignored his existence entirely.

“Let’s just say I have a little ‘predicament’ myself going on, hmm. Oh and the ferry man has a point. If you plan to keep those lovely locks of yours, then I apologize but you’re going to have to ‘rat it up.’ As in, tangle your hair so that it looks peasant-like and follow along with the sick act well. It would be bad for you and I say your identity were to be discovered” the doctor said while looking forward at the nearing port. “Almost there, so stop whining Sir Egbert.”

“But you’re being mean Doctor Lalonde! Humph!” Sir Egbert pouted like a puppy at the doctor, and she shook her head at him in response.

“Well alright: if it saves me for even a little amount of time, I will do as you say and tangle my hair into a frizzy mess. Again, thank you so much for this! How can I ever repay you, Doctor?”

“You can start out by dropping the idea of repayment. Your gratitude is good enough for me. Besides, this is what I like to do: help people. Now rat up that hair already, time is wasting away.”

Oh, the doctor was far too kind.


	5. The Castle of Tartaunus Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aradia finds shelter with the castle of Tartaunus when the doctor could no longer care for her. However with promotion-crazy maids running around, will she be able to survive the first day?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I apologize for not meeting my weekly deadline with this fic (like I said I would), but I kind of fell under the spell of leisure when I went to my Grandmother’s last weekend and left early in the morning for Cedar Point (best amusement park ever I swear) on Sunday where we remained until late last night on Labor Day. Plus, my homework got the best of me that night and for the remainder of the week, which had been utter shit overall (my grades are losing their high promise).
> 
> Unfortunately this chapter was taking a lot longer to write than I originally thought it would and the drag-on has made it quite long, so I’ve decided that I’m going to break this up into three parts now. This one happened to be the most boring, but bear with me here for a little! The following chapter will involve some dramatic events for your entertainment and also includes minor character death (as in a maid), so don’t lose faith in my ability already (I’m just getting started readers)!

THREE WEEKS SINCE THAT NIGHT the witch hunt had died down, most of the men believing that she had been in her house after all and burned down with it in her sleep. Life carried on as usual in Hopeland Kingdom as well as the Kingdom of Tartaunus, however the woman-no-longer-in-red would not return. Not yet, at least.

Even though it had seemed like such a short time to her, the widow could not remain with the doctor forever. She dreaded the day’s arrival, but yet it had come quicker than she thought and because of such, was unprepared for the move. Her mind was blank of an idea of just where she could take up residence next, and it was apparent on her face to the doctor when Doctor Lalonde approached the seated widow.

“How goes the brain-storming now?” the doctor questioned the widow as she joined her at the crude table, pulling the mismatched other seat out to sit down.

“Obviously not doing any good, kind doctor. Whatever shall I do now?” the widow looked up from the rotted hole in the wooden table to stare on at the doctor with creased eyebrows, her dark hair messy to disguise herself as sickly and poor.

“Well,” the doctor folded her hands on the surface of the round table and looked deep into the widow’s brown eyes. “I have said it before and will say it again, the castle is always accepting of new servants and you will find that the Queen herself is quite the lovely young lady. At least, that’s what Sir Egbert has said before. It is the only other option I can think of besides living on the streets and enacting in thievery. What say you now, Miss Megido?”

“I…” said Miss Megido had started, but trailed off and pierced her naturally red-tinted lips, unsure of how to respond. The two had been over this numerous times whenever they had the chance to discuss it, but each time the widow had declined any mentioning of the castle, figuring it would be too risky to take up work there. The Queen may be considerate, but how could she bestow kindness on a witch suspect? It was expected that the Queen would betray her to the kingdom she has allegiance with. After all, what was the worth in protecting one single servant that she could easily replace?

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea. What would happen if I were to be discovered? The queen would surely have my head—or worse, burn me!” the widow covered her face in her hands then and took in a couple of deep breaths, willing her usual happy-go-lucky self to return. Unfortunately, it wasn't really happening in her state. She felt far too dead inside to go back, and it all started when her husband died—even if he _had_ “purchased” her. She had harbored some affection for him, and the loneliness that overcame her after his death had begotten her.

The doctor reached out her right hand and placed it over the widow’s left when she had released her hold on her face, a warm smile gracing the doctor’s features. “Darling, the castle is a lot safer than you give it credit for.” Doctor Lalonde patted the widow’s hand once before snaking her hand back her way and re-lacing her fingers together. “And besides, how often are you even going to see the Queen, her suitors—which I’m sure there are many,—or her allies wandering around? If anything, you might be assigned kitchen or lower level cleaning duty! Who’s going to see you then? And the other workers themselves probably only care for political gossip. Sure, you may be mentioned a few times as the ‘new pretty girl,’ but who’s going to remember you? There are _thousands_ of servants, and you would be just a speck on the wall as far as I am concerned. So I say go for it—what do you have to lose, really? If all fails, then run away! No harm in that.” The doctor stood up then and turned around to head out for her daily duty in Hopeland Kingdom.

“I expect your face to be absent when I return, and I sincerely hope that you adhere my advice. I am afraid that this is good-bye, Miss Medigo, for the chances of us ever meeting again are slim-to-none” Doctor Lalonde swiveled on her heels and tapped over to where the widow still sat, and then bent over to give her a big hug (even if she had to hug wood in order to do so).

“Please take caution in whatever final decision you make. I will continue to worry for your safety even when you’re gone, so leave knowing that at least one person in this world cares for you, alright?” the doctor pushed back, her hands on the widow’s shoulders as she smiled at her.

“Thank you, kind Lalonde. I shall be quick to depart once you take your leave, but I do for one expect to see you again. That is, when one of the maids kicks the bucket” the widow winked at the doctor and pulled the white gauze wrapping from around her head, a small smile on her own lips. The doctor patted her shoulder and smirked then, turning to officially take her leave.

“Blessed be, Miss Megido, and may God keep his watchful eye on you for any future trouble.”

As soon as the doctor was out of the disease-ridden log cabin, the widow lifted from her seat and sashayed on over to the crooked door herself, a set frown on her delicate features. She feared for her future, and honestly had no idea what she was in for at the castle of Tartaunus.

***

Gray wisps for ends of a dress blew along the settle breeze as the dark eyes of the owner widened at the visual: gorgeous bright towers and a large barbican with not two, but three alert guards before the risen gate. Smoothing out her tattered wear, the widow braced herself for the degrading confrontation with the men and approached them with her head held high, face impassive. Two of the three men continued to chat, unaware of her presence while the third looked on at her with a hint of a lecherous smirk.

“Excuse me, good Sirs” the widow stopped before the third frontal man, and curtsied. “But I was wondering if there were any servant positions open, preferably of castle keep?”

With the exception of a few shared glances, the two guards on the castle side of the gate nodded their heads when the guard in front of the widow waved his hand to them. The guards then lowered the gate, the widow cringing a little at the sound of the chains-on-cog-wheels.

“You can cross over to the other side, but you will have to speak with yet another guard once you pass through the barbican. Sir Knight Strider will most likely be on the other side of the gate, and it will be him that gives you the official lowdown on the servant acceptance policy. Blessed be, milady” the guard before her stepped back with his left foot and placed a fist over his heart in respect to her, but the leery look in his eyes said otherwise to her. Gulping, the widow thanked him and curtsied again before proceeding.

Crossing the bridge would have been delightful, had it not been for the high winds that threatened to throw her on into the moat. Though shaky, the widow smiled at the two men that displayed equally lecherous expressions as she passed on through the double doors. The barbican had been a quiet walk, and for that the widow was grateful. However, the cross over to Sir Strider had been just as dreadful as the previous bridge walk. Upon reaching this knight, she curtsied to him like she had the previous five, but this time tried to have her smile reach her eyes. This man was the big-shot, so it was in her best interest to be as polite as possible to him.

“You came for…?” The knight spoke first without even addressing her appropriately.

“A position as a cleaning special, good Sir.” Without breaking his impassive composure, the knight took a second to check out the widow’s physique.

“Since you’re entry level you start on the basement. Best of luck.” Maybe it was her imagination, but she could have sworn she saw the stoic knight crack just the slightest hint of a tipped smile.

“Thank you, kind Sir” the widow curtsied again, and then walked on past him, her raven hair catching the wind and lifting in his face in the process.

Now that she was inside the castle, the widow took some time to examine the intricate wall decorations, and especially the many portraits she passed on by of previous rulers and even some nobles, especially the dukes and duchesses (the kingdom appeared to favor female heads, though. It certainly put a twist on their culture, but the widow personally had no room to complain). Too fast she had reached the room and was unprepared for her meet with the Queen. Scared? Very much so, but time left no room for dilly-dallying so in she went with a helpful push from one of the two guards, the double mahogany doors making only a small squeak as they gave way to reveal the throne room. Extravagant and large as it was, nothing beat the beauty of the ruler herself that made the golden and jewel-coated throne look dull. Even a woman such as the widow was stunned in her presence, and ended up stumbling over her low curtsy because of such. The widow could feel the flush of embarrassment arise, and the wind chime laughter that echoed across the room did not help in chasing it away. 

The widow didn’t dare to look up until her majesty bid her relevance.

Holding her stomach from laughing too hard, the Queen waved her free hand for the widow to stand, but spoke out when she failed to do so. “Rise, Mademoiselle, and inform me of what it is you desire. Clearly some new clothing,” Queen Feferi lifted her eyebrows and her glossed lips twitched at the sight of the widow’s wear. Oh no, that tripe would simply _not_ do behind the walls of her castle.

“No need to humor me, your majesty, but yes some new garment would be appreciated. However I did not come here for apparel, but rather a favorable job position.” That included free living for the rest of her days, of course. Her future was looking so bright already.

“Well that is most acceptable. I have been running low on cleaning maids, anyways. Unfortunately you will have to start in the lowest level. If this bothers you, then this is not the job for you and you can seek refuge elsewhere. In my opinion, however, you seem fit enough for the duty and I would like to see you climb to the top of my servant echeladder.” The Queen paused for a minute to catch her breath, then smiled at the widow and held out her arms. “Welcome to the castle of Tartaunus—it is a pleasure to have you! May I take your name now?” It was a shame that she had to ask for the widow’s name, and the widow noticed the falter in her smile and felt the flush of embarrassment all over again.

“I go by the name of Aradia, your highness, and I humbly thank you for your hospitality from the bottom of my heart” she bowed in front of the Queen and ignored the bead of sweat forming at her left temple. Well her full name was Aradiella Megido, but she didn’t want to take the risk of the Queen possibly recognizing it. Who knew what King Ampora said to her? Queen Feferi clapped her hands then and called out to the guard.

“Sir Adam! Please escort Miss Aradia to Miss Maryam’s tailor room to have her fitted in the _pink_ maid dress. Thank you.”

As the guard led her away, Aradia inclined her head to look behind her one last time at the Queen, and could have sworn she saw a mischievous gleam in her eye. And did the Queen just say “ _pink_?!”

***

Ebony, short hair and tall was the olive-skinned woman in front of the widow. The woman wore a fine dress of many shades of green and gave the widow the warmest smile she’d ever seen on someone. Aradia felt downgraded in the woman’s presence in her tattered garb.

“Welcome, Madame, may I have your name? And am I to assume that you are a new cleaning servant of our Queen?” the woman rested the thick cloth she had been holding over the back of a basket-weaved chair. She then waltzed over to address the widow more formally by standing directly in front of her, the ruffled ends of her jade dress sweeping the ground as she did so. Just as Aradia was about to respond, the eloquent woman curtsied and introduced herself first. “Since my late husband’s death, the duke, I go by my maiden name which the Queen has been so kind as to respect such a wish, but I would much rather be addressed by my first name by you, Kanaya. It’s quite the unique one and will not be easily confused with by the thousands of servants, for a lot of them share the name Mary.” The woman now known as Kanaya stood tall then, her bosom uplifted from the way she carried her back—straight.

“Well okay then,” Aradia chuckled and ran a hand through one of her knotted strands of hair. “Aradia, please. I do not quite like my last name all that much, considering some people like to shorten it to ‘Meg.’ Say,” Aradia began to ask a question after she rose from her own curtsy. “Must I really adorn a pink dress?” Come to think of it now that she had gotten a look around the tailoring room, all Aradia ever saw along the walls were either ordain dresses of tyrian or various pink-shaded maid dresses. However, there was one dress in particular that stood out: a crimson thin-strapped silk gown that gradually became a maroon as the dress cascaded downward, and the sparkling black underbelly only made it better. It kind of reminded her of a Gypsy’s gown, and the shoulder drape that hung next to it was equally stunning in its blood-red glory.

“Ah, the old dress explanation. I’ve had to give this speech to every new servant that comes here. And that’s not including the servants that have received promotions” Kanaya didn’t even glance behind her and took a seat in the only comfy chair in the room. “Needless to say, each color stands for a servant position and are essentially what the servants look forward to in this female-ridden castle of old. All I ever hear from them is promotion this, and promotion that. Every one of them wants to wear the fuchsia dress. However, there can only be four and therefore makes for some real competition among the females” Kanaya laced her fingers together and rested her hands in her lap, her back completely straight and shoulders rolled back like a woman of nobility would sit. Aradia started to walk around the room and examine the colorful fabrics strewn about the place, though even so the room retained cleanliness.

“Actually I must warn you that the cleaning servants can be nasty, vicious workers that only have one thing on their mind: promotion. If the opportunity presents itself, and disaster befalling a co-worker is the only way to obtain it, the maid will mercilessly strike out. I’ve seen some unpleasant things go down in this castle, and they're all behind our majesty’s back too, so be warned Aradia.” The ex-duchess offered the widow a small smile when she stopped pacing to give Kanaya a worried expression. “Do not fear, for they would never commit the heinous crime of murder…at least not that I know of. Then again, there have been reports of some servants going missing before, so I wouldn’t be all that surprised if it had been the work of a servant” Kanaya shrugged, and then leaned forward to retrieve the thick cloth she had been holding earlier, deciding to pick up on where she had left off in sewing designs into it.

“That sounds…horrible” the widow covered her mouth in mock horror and only lowered her hand when Kanaya flicked her wrist to wave it off.

“As of right now it’s no big deal since the servants are mere peasants—no offense to you, of course, you’re quite lovely Aradia” Kanaya apologized for her inconsiderate comment, but Aradia didn’t seem to notice. Or rather just didn’t care.

“But if somebody catches a servant—or group of servants—in action, they will most certainly be put out at the very worst. Our majesty may be kind, but even I highly doubt that she would condemn them to wearing the black dress. Murder is right along the lines of treason, so the punishment should ultimately be death with not even the slightest bit of mercy. Taking another’s life without good reason is an absolute no-no and an insult to the Lord. Anyways, enough of that now” Miss Maryam folded her hands again and fixed Aradia with her signature Motherly smile. “Let me explain to you the significance of the many shades of pink now, as I’m sure you have been dying to here.”

“Oh I am so near death by now that I doubt your explanation will matter to me in the long run. Besides, I would much rather be wearing that lovely red dress right there. Either that, or the black maid dress. Pink simply looks horrendous on me and overall puts me in a foul mood. Is the soft pink dress really my only option, or can I wear the black dress?” The widow sat down on the basket-like chair--since the fabric had been removed--and lifted her eyebrows at Kanaya.

“I don’t think you understand the dread that comes with wearing that black dress. It means that you could be thrown out of the castle at any given moment, and nobody will want to be around you.”

“That’s music to my ears, actually.” They both laughed at that, and Kanaya’s smile grew. This new servant was quite the individual.

“Well you would have to do something unlawful in order to wear it, which I would not advise you attempt. As for Lady Red over there,” Kanaya jerked her thumb toward the crimson gown, a smirk playing on her lips.

“What about her?” Aradia tilted her head to the side, playing the confused child.

“No one exactly knows what the splendid gown stands for except for the Queen herself, but I have a great hypothesis that I’m almost positive rings true.” The ex-duchess made a curt nod of her head before continuing on with her sewing task. 

“Oh? And what might this hypothesis be?” the widow leaned back in her chair and waggled her brows.

“It may be completely off, but I believe that the dress is meant for a _very special_ servant, one that is worthy of entering her personal quarters. Alone.”

“Ooooh, that is a wild assumption now, Miss Maryam” Aradia chuckled and sat straight like Kanaya did then, deciding to practice discipline again, just like she had done for her late husband so many times before. “What do the other colors mean now?”

“To be brief, since we’re running low on time, the light pink obviously stands for either a new maid or a maid that hasn’t proved her worth yet, the salmon a maid that has shown her value through her work (usually in front of the Queen herself), the hot pink is only for her restroom assistant, and the fuchsia her dressing servants. The pink apron dresses are her kitchen maids, and you know of the remaining colors. Are there any other questions lingering or shall I proceed to fit you into a light pink?”

“For a short explanation, that was fairly informative. Thank you, we can move on.” 

The widow stood up from her seat and the ex-duchess followed likewise, setting the thick fabric on the comforter after her. Kanaya turned to her right and approached the basket of light pink frilly dresses, each of white aprons and under ruffles. 

“Let’s try this small one first,” she said while bending over to examine the pins. The yellow ball-end pins stood for the small size, and there seemed to be only one left. Shaking her head at her luck (she didn’t exactly fancy making yet another one of those dresses, why couldn’t the Queen hire heavier set servants?), Kanaya lifted the dress and removed the pin from the side of the apron, turning around and smiling a little less kindly at Aradia. “Hopefully this is the right one!”

Nodding at Kanaya, Aradia removed her tattered garb and tossed it to the side, her under-gown cascading back down her body afterward. The corner of her lips turned up into an awkward smile when the tailor had tried to dress the widow herself, and shook her head at the ex-duchess when her arms weren’t quite going through. The other widow released a dry laugh and stepped back to allow the witch doctor to dress herself since she was incapable of doing it.

When the widow had finished, Kanaya had her twirl around so that she could examine the fit. So far so good, but there were a few things that could be adjusted. Of course, she hadn’t noticed these flaws until she got a closer inspection, but the size was okay for the time being.

“Alright, you’re good to go Aradia. You can go off and find a tour guide now, but don’t let this be the last time you stop by here. I wouldn’t mind talking to you again, dear” Kanaya’s warm smile returned and she smoothed down Aradia’s apron.

“Oh of course!” Aradia matched Kanaya’s smile. “We all need someone to talk to, and I’ve gone without for quite a good while now. Plus, you’re a kind and slightly humorous woman. Who wouldn’t want to make conversation with you?”

“Oh, no need to flatter me darling.”

Careful not to step on any of the fabrics strewn about the room, Aradiella waved good-bye to Kanaya and headed toward the door. “Don’t mention it, really” she said before shutting the door behind her. The widow honestly found the tailor to be a pleasant lady, and wouldn’t mind coming to see her whenever she found the time. _If_ she ever got free time in the castle. It was probably only after bed time hours that she could wonder at all, though.

***

Only an hour late was an understatement. This so-called tour guide of Aradia’s had shown face after she had swept the whole lower level of the castle. Way to be ahead of things, Miss Perfect (that’s what the other basement maid called Aradia’s tour guide, at least).

“I apologize or my unacceptable tardiness, Miss Megido, but I assure you that it was within good reason. Now then, let us abort this basement duty and return to the main floor. Come along up the stairwell” the short brunette ordered Aradia without so much as even an introduction and ascended the staircase, expecting the widow to follow immediately after her. Aradia stared at the girl’s retreating form in shock at her rude behavior, and didn’t actually follow her on up until after her fellow basement cleaner had patted her on the shoulder and nodded. The widow figured that it was a shared moment of understanding, but couldn’t see how the girl’s nod was supposed to encourage her to move on. In the end she did of course, but was wary of what the brunette’s real intentions were due to the nasty tone of voice she had given Aradia.

Upon reaching the main level, Aradia found that the girl had already started down the long hallway of portraits and she had to run to catch up with the girl. What was up with the small brunette, anyways? What did she have against Aradia? She didn’t even know her! It wasn’t until they had reached the dark right turn at the end of the hallway that the girl stopped and turned around, hands on her hips and bottom lip jutted outward.

“Okay here’s the deal: everyone that’s seen you has been gossiping mad about your exceptional beauty and think that’s why you almost got the open dressing position. But I don’t think you’re all that special. In fact, I heard you looked pretty dirty when you first entered.” The girl paused for a minute to give Aradia a quick glance-over. “Since you clean up well I believe them now, but that’s still not the point. You are to remain as basement cleaner or else you’ll have to answer to me. _I’m_ going to get promoted to salmon soon and maybe even the hot pink if I can help it. However, your sudden presence here is threatening my chance of rising up the echeladder so you better keep a low profile bitch, or I will _end_ you. Capisce?”

Crazy, yes. Intelligent? Yeah, not so much. Aradiella was craving sleep at the moment, the threat from the other not fully registering with her. It took her a hot minute to process that the girl honestly meant murder if Aradia so much as made one slip-up that could affect the girl’s goal in some way—even if it was settle—and blinked very slowly at her in response. Kanaya had been right about the other servants: they took their meager job _way_ too seriously.

“Um first of all, who died and made you Queen, hon?” Aradia lifted her eyebrows at the other before passing her up and refusing to wait for the girl to follow just like she had done to Aradiella two minutes ago. “You’re clearly wearing a light pink dress and last time I checked, I wasn't blind. So that makes you on the same level as me, even if you are cleaning above ground. I only take orders from respectable servants, and I will _not_ tolerate you threatening me” she continued on with her response as she waltzed down the hallway, the clack of her pink dance heels resonating down the hall. “By this I mean if you so much as _touch_ me, you will be the one regretting it.” The widow did realize the weight of her words, but she knew she could easily take out a twig like the brunette girl and get away with the disposal safe and sound. 

Scoffing, the girl had caught up to Aradia and had to work to match the widow’s pace, an expression of pure malice written across the brunette’s face. “You dare threaten me again and _you_ will be the one that ends up in the grave, daughter of a bitch!” the girl snapped and her heels made an angry sound effect when she stopped in front of a wooden door. “Here’s where you will be staying: with _me_ and some of my _friends_. Hope you don’t get too comfy, because I doubt you’ll be lasting more than a week here now.”

With a wicked laugh, the girl opened the door and entered. Aradia shook her head at the girl’s childish behavior when the door had slammed in her face, and then opened the door herself to head on to bed.

Unfortunately, Aradiella got a bad vibe from the other girls when their loud bickering had ceased the second she walked in, their expressions varying between angry and curious. Mostly angry, though. Lovely. The widow glanced about until she found an empty bed in the corner of the room and made her way over to it. 

Hardly caring if the others were watching, Aradia removed her light pink maid dress and hung it up on the hook on the wall, then climbed on under the covers in only her under gown. She was far too tired to sleep with one eye open that night, and could only hope that none of the girls tried to pull a fast one on her.

Naivety was a quality that every young woman was guilty of at some point in her life.

***

The following morning, Aradia had woken up of her own accord and stretched her arms into the air, feeling like she had experienced one of the best sleeps in her entire short life-time. But ignorance had proved to be bliss this time around when she had failed to notice the heart cut into the area where her breast crevice was on her dress—including the exact time she had awoken. It was suspicious that all the maids were absent.

Running down the hall when she heard no sound of another servant, Aradia ended up getting lost from all the turns she had made, and to no avail did she locate another maid, either. The widow had never been more grateful when she came across a petite brunette girl that had been tracing her hand along the wall to her left. Her robed garb had been a little odd, sure, but Aradia believed she had to know at least the basic layout of the castle. 

“Excuse me, Madame” Aradiella called out with a huff, and stopped just behind the brunette when she had ceased her walking as well. Aradia had to catch her breath for a moment before she could continue on. “Do you, perhaps, happen to know where the kitchen is located? I’ve been trying to find it for a while now, and all the other servants appear to be missing so I cannot seek aid from them.”

The only other person in the hallway lifted her head and turned around, and it was then that Aradia was able to make out the foggy hue the brunette’s eyes had. As soon as she had opened her mouth to apologize for her inconsiderate question, the brunette had surprised her with an answer as well as a shocking husky voice for a female.

“Make a left after this corridor ends, pass Sir Knight Strider, then turn left again at the next hall. Midway down the way you should come across two tall mahogany doors to your left. Behind them is the Queen’s dining hall. Knock first, though, ‘lest you disrupt her meal and will therefore receive a demotion for ill-behaviored entry. Do you have any other questions you wish to ask the seer, Aradia?” It was freaky enough that this girl had known her name already, was blind, and correctly guessed who she was as well as the directions to the dining hall, but Aradiella really had no room to complain in her current predicament. She was still grateful for the free information.

“Oh no, but thank you so much for helping me! Um, I don’t believe I've ever had the fortune of knowing your name myself, so could I please have it?” Even though the girl was blind, Aradia curtsied to show respect before stepping forward to continue travelling to her destination, but only after the brunette informed her of her name did Aradia officially depart.

“Terezi is more than enough, thank you. And don’t mention it; just hurry along now before you’re late. We don’t want to upset our majesty, do we?” The seer had responded with a tilt of her head and wicked grin that sent a shiver down Aradia’s spine. Okay, that was enough talking with the seer for one day, so Aradia decided to just walk off with a curt nod of her head (though she highly doubted that Terezi was able to tell she had done so).

When she had located the mahogany doors, the widow did as Terezi had suggested and knocked. Two times. There was the sound of muffled conversation behind the double doors and some high-pitched giggles, until eventually all went silent. Someone of higher authority must have ordered it so, Aradia figured, and she took a deep breath behind the doors before pushing them open.

Bright was the light that hit her face and she had to stop and squint for a second to adjust her eyes to it. The only person she could make out in her blinded haze was the stunning appearance of the eloquently dressed Queen in her seat at the rear end of the long table.

“It is _aboat_ time that you joined us, _guppy_! Mother _cuttlefish_ was star- _fish_ -ting to get worried here! Come have a seat before your _rood_ gets too _culled_ ; and I like the _newt_ addition to your uniform, by the _wave_ , eh-heeheehee!”


	6. The Castle of Tartaunus Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visits with Kanaya become common when Aradia finds herself on her own in the castle (being that the maids appear to be against her). Other than that, life isn’t so bad for her. That is, until a promotion hits her in the face after an unwarranted discovery befalls her.
> 
> On the other hand, the Queen’s beloved knight decides to venture into the opposite land in search for a new sword. 
> 
> After that, a big ball goes down and Aradia is asked to serve an important role. But what will become of her afterward? Sometimes departure is the best option in these cases.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **AN** : There is really no excuse for me not updating this in December. Well, other than “writer’s block” (the Dave part in particular wasn’t coming to me) on it and wanting to spend time with my friends. As for why I didn’t update before then, well my life went to literal shit as I was doing some seriously ridiculous amount of homework every night on top of working nearly every day, and my health and grades were horrible just because of this one class. Yeah, it was literally the worst semester I ever went through. December was like my wind-down and chill time as I had gone through some major stress, including financial stress (which is still affecting me greatly even as I write this). Also, I’ve been putting up with some shit from my BFF, too, as the person who lets people dump their shit on them…sorry for using the word “shit” so much x’D I just needed to vent for a little….anywaves, back to the story—I really hope you all enjoy this chapter and its suspense (I made it long on porpoise)!
> 
> UPDATE: That was really old up there, and the current fail is because I went through Basic Training for the Army and am currently in AIT at Fort Lee, but I graduate October 27th and will be returning home to some long quiet time to update this regularly again! By the way, you’ll be happy to know that I reread the ENTIRE fic and edited any grammatical errors that I saw to enhance the story, so it’s a real clean read now!
> 
> **UPD8! (literally)** Even though I’m mad about Gamzee not being mentioned in the final pages, I’m still going to UPD8 this just for the sake of being able to a pull a come-back on the 7th anniversary, aka the end to it all. Besides that, this chapter has been stretched on for long enough and is in due need of completion, don’t you think? Well, onward with it now!
> 
> **Note on the Blacksmith’s Tent** : This link here (http://fc08.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2012/182/2/6/medieval_blacksmith_sandro_dorst_by_ambosshg-d55kpx5.jpg) is kind of what I am going for with his shop, however it is a lot more closed off with more heavy cloth for the roof.
> 
> By the way, the currency is going to be kept written as “gold coins” now because Euros do not fit this setting at all.
> 
> **Warning** : Minor character death (as in one of the servants).

BREAKFAST HAD GONE BY SURPRISINGLY WELL. That is, when the servants weren’t looking at Aradia’s “newt addition” to her uniform it was okay. Were the maids really _that_ immature? Apparently so. In fact, certain maids started to show their true colors to her when she was moved up a level (the Queen declared it so after breakfast was dismissed).

When the young widow had entered the ex-duchess’ tailor room, she was surprised to see how much the room had changed already. It was literally only yesterday that the floor had been littered with various colored fabrics as well as comfy chairs with dresses draped over them; all had been moved to a new location (that Aradia did not know of).

“Oh, Aradia dear! What brings yo—oh, I see. Come forward now so I can examine that” Kanaya had turned around with a sewing needle in her hand, all smiles, until her bright smile had faltered when she noticed the choppy heart cut into the widow’s uniform. “Looks like a maid already decided that she didn’t like you” the tailor chuckled as Aradia sunk down into the now-empty chair of red velvet.

“I believe it was the maid that showed me to the room that did the deed and I apologize, but I cannot recall her name to tell you” the widow folded her hands in her lap and frowned.

“Ah, and what might this maid’s appearance be of?” the Queen’s tailor responded and lowered herself to about Aradia’s sitting height, leaning forward to closely inspect the damage (Kanaya was tall for a woman). “Moreover, did she have lush auburn hair in a perfect bun? You are all supposed to have buns, of course, but Crimelda’s stands out both in alignment and shape.”

Mulling over Kanaya’s question, Aradia tilted her head to the side and wondered if auburn was the right description. However, the maid _did_ have the _perfect_ bun. “I believe that we are talking about the same person” she said as Kanaya stood tall again.

“Unfortunately a simple over-stitch would look silly, so I will have to fit you into a larger size” Kanaya focused the subject back on the dress specifically and tapped her chin, frowning at the work that the predicament had led to. “Alright stand up then,” the ex-duchess lifted a flat palm up into the air to show emphasis as she turned to the pile of beginner maid dresses. Once she reached the box, Kanaya bent down and lifted the first dress into the air (the medium-sized ones were on top of the large ones). 

“Well, let’s get you fitted into this one and then I can pin you where it’s too big or doesn’t look right,” Kanaya looked behind her at Aradia, but then quickly looked back at the shelf of books in front her when she realized that the widow was removing her clothes. Even though they were of the same gender, it was rude to watch another change. She was thankful that she hadn’t caught anything. The ex-duchess extended her arm backward—with the dress hanging over it—for the new maid to take when she was ready. Not long after Kanaya did that, Aradia did reach out for the dress and was quick to slip it over her head, too, however effectively messing up her bun (ah well; she hardly cared for the strict tidiness that every other maid sought to keep up with).

“I’m done!” Aradia said in a cheerful manner and ran her hands along the pleaded end of the uniform. Kanaya took a step backward and turned around on that foot, making her way over to Aradia with a critic’s common expression, ready to judge. The widow’s expression twisted into one of concern as the ex-duchess had her turn multiple ways as well as lift her arms up several times, different directions. “Ah, is it that large on me?”

“No dear,” responded Kanaya in a small voice. The elegant woman crouched down and pinched two parts of the white fabric, holding them together and taking the pin out of her mouth to keep them together as she moved onward. “This is how I focus; I apologize if it is alarming you, but I promise that we will get this to fit nicely against your slim form (which is quite lovely if I do say so myself)” the ex-duchess stood up with a reassuring smile laden on her face. “I believe I have properly located the worst places now, so it’s good to be adjusted. Unfortunately, you will have to wear the soiled dress for the remainder of the day while I edit this, though. Sorry, darling” she tilted her head to the side and gave Aradia a piteous look.

“It’s alright, Kanaya” the widow in turn gave Kanaya a smile, though it was small and sad. “I’ll be okay!” she perked up after and started to lift up the uniform over her head; the ex-duchess widened her eyes at the action, and then abruptly covered them.

“Christ’s blood and nails!”

***

Four hours past Aradia’s visit to the tailoring room, a devious event had occurred before her eyes that confirmed Kanaya’s warning that all of the maids were cold-hearted people that only cared for a promotion.

What she had witnessed wasn’t any less than real: Crimelda, the maid that had led her to the sleeping area, had clearly tripped the maid carrying the mix of pink paint. Of course, the maid’s leg had snapped out before Queen Feferi could witness the evil deed. The Queen did turn down the hallway, but it had been just in time to see the pink mix fly up and onto one of her great portraits.

It was obvious that the act was not going to go down well, even if it was an accident.

“Oh your highness!” Crimelda had cried out and ran over to examine the damage. “I’ll go clean this up right away! I cannot believe that Shenara would be so careless!” the maid had shaken her head back-and-forth and gave this “Shenara” a look of disappointment.

Feferi had, upon seeing this exchange, clapped her hands together and decided to promote Crimelda to a salmon pink dress for taking up the daunting task, demoting the girl with the paint as a result.

The widow had been at a safe enough distance, and did not want to end up getting involved somehow in the scene, so she absconded as quickly as she could (without running of course, because running brought unwarranted attention). 

Now that Aradia knew just how nasty the maids could get, she decided that it was in her best option to stay as far away from them as possible. Plus, her basement duty wasn’t all that bad—it kept her out of the Queen’s way and provided her with the silent comfort of being alone that she loved so much. Although, it was the silent moments that made her miss her house in Brinksman land, as well as praying over her late Husband’s grave; but she would get over it in good time.

The widow had to for the sake of her sanity.

 

When night-time had fallen, Aradia had the misfortune of passing by the seer again, but of course she wasn’t aware of the truly freaky ability she possessed. That is, until the girl jerked her head upward all of a sudden and reached out to grasp at the widow’s uniform, lips parted and a creepy sound escaping them.

Startled, Aradia stepped back and yanked at her arm in an attempt to have release but clearly, the seer was not going to let her go so easily, holding fast. Near desperation, the widow knit her brows and glanced around her in hopes that maybe a knight was around. After no such luck was hers, the new maid pursed her lips and stared on into the prophet’s misty eyes.

“What is it that you want from me? I have work to do you know.” Normally Aradia wouldn’t have sounded so rude, but the seer was not someone that a mere maid such as herself would want to be around, so she wanted to leave the hallway as soon as the woman relaxed her tight grip.

A wicked smile formed on the seer’s face and she laughed at Aradia’s response to her sudden grasp. “As the law forbids it, I am unable to tell you any visions I have of her Highness, but I will warn you to be wary of her—something is going to occur between you two very soon, so heed my warning dear widow.” How did this woman know that the new maid was a widow? “Also, be thoughtful of others’ actions, especially after what you will come to witness two days from now. If you choose to squeal like a pig, then you will be rewarded dutifully. Accept this promotion gratefully, meaning that you _should not_ decline as the Queen is very persistent. If you do decline, however, she will see you as more humble than any maid she has ever hired before, but you will still be promoted no matter what. In other words, don’t fight with her.” The prophet grinned and drew close to the widow’s face to whisper (“do not ignore this vision’s warning”) with a high-pitched cackle before she released her iron grip.

Rubbing her wrist gently, Aradia looked on at the seer with wide eyes, even as the woman sashayed down the hallway to continue toward her destination. Blinking rapidly, the widow turned her head back around and headed down the opposite direction of the hallway, absolutely peeved.

Just what would she see that could change her destiny so? 

The widow spent the rest of her day pondering over this sudden reading from the Queen’s personal seer, her expression that of a dazed person during her nightly cleaning duties, and she had also spent dinner as such. It was a good thing the other maids were oblivious to this…or rather, they just didn’t care for Aradia at all. And when night came, the widow went to bed with empty conclusions that made no sense, so the woman simply fell asleep on the assumption that whatever will be, will be.

And two days later, Aradia surely did come to witness this unfortunate event.

The morning had passed on by rather smoothly as well as the quiet afternoon, and the shifts were both free of any sign of conflict among the maids, so the widow could not understand why these girls would be doing this to one of their own.

From her position behind the middle glass window in the back wing on the third floor (facing the splendid castle garden), Aradia could just barely make out in the pitch dark four maids digging up the Earth, destroying what was once a perfect lush green.

What was their motive, though?

There was a long box of some kind that had at first blended in with the dark, but now that Aradia could better see it, the once death-obsessed part of her recognized it as a makeshift coffin, and it took all of her willpower not to squeal. Clearly what these maids were doing was unauthorized as there would have been a ceremony before hand, right? At least that’s what the widow expected there to be. Well, there was only one way to know for certain.

She had to investigate these girls and expose their wrongdoing. It was the right thing to do, and although Aradia saw herself as no hero, whoever this person was that they were burying deserved an acknowledgement of death at least.

Determined, Aradia straightened out her apron and turned away from the window to hobble on down the hallway just before the only entryway back into the castle from the gardens. Eavesdropping was the only way to know for sure that these girls had done something wrong without having to personally go out and dig back up the dead (for all the widow was concerned, that person could stay in the ground. Plus, she didn’t want to dirty her dress—digging up the ground was hard work, especially by one’s self!).

***

Golden rays hit the bob of platinum blond hair beneath it, beating upon the knight’s head and making him irate. Well, internally irate that is. This particular knight in shining armor would never reveal his emotions externally.

Or at least he tried his hardest not to.

Beneath this sunlight the knight rode his trusty steed, the white Marwari, and as he passed the fish monger he nodded to the man in acknowledgement. After all, he was the Queen’s favorite vender so it was best to do so.

When the knight reached the port, he stood down from his horse and petted her soft black mane as he looked onward over the sparkling lake. The fog just overhead had him grimacing (internally), but what could he do about it? Nothing.

“Uh hello there, Sir David!” a chipper yet meek voice called behind the knight and when said Sir David looked behind him, he saw the taller male bowing in respect to him. The knight nodded in return to the boy when he stood, and it was then that Sir David recognized him.

“Ah, Johnny boy! Running another message for the Queen?” the knight ask in his usual cool tone, internally elated to see who he considered to be his best friend (without the Queen knowing, of course).

“You betcha I am!” the black-haired boy grinned, revealing his set of buck teeth as a result. “Although I cannot give you its contents, I can say that it’s a grim one yet” John’s smile faltered at such news, but the boy was quick to regain his original composure when the ferry man’s call was heard.

“Hey there, Sir Egbert!” said the ferry man as he turned his long boat to face the dock sideways. “And, uhhhh, good Sir…k-knight” he stuttered at the end, unsure of how to properly address the knight. Military did not come often to his transportation.

“Just call me Dave” the knight said with a lift of his chin, and the boy next to him smacked his hand against his head.

“It’s Sir Strider, you goof!” A hypocrite the messenger was in calling the knight “a goof,” but Sir David made nothing of it except to stare up at John with his piercing red-eyed gaze. The taller male gulped at this.

“He can call me whatever he wants, John.”

“Hey, don’t say my name in front of the ferry man! Oh come on, Dave! I was trying to have him call you by a respectable name, yeesh!”

“Sir David is respectable. Hence the ‘sir’ prefix” the knight deadpanned.

“That’s not what I me—”

“Whatever John; let’s just board already. My white beauty takes a hot minute, so you get on first to help me, will you?” Sir Strider cut the messenger off and patted his horse’s head, the horse rolling its lips in response as John grit his teeth.

“You don’t have to ask, _Dave_. I have to respect your wishes, anyways” the messenger rolled his eyes in parallel to the knight’s horse, then climbed on over the edge of the long boat, the ferry man watching him carefully.

“I don’t think your attitude is very respectable, Johnathan” the knight responded with the slightest lift of his lips into a small smirk while he worked with the horse’s reins.

“Really Sir _Strider_? Your sarcasm is just as appreciated” John rolled his eyes again, peeved that Dave decided to use his full name just to get on his nerves. 

It was after John had sat down at his usual front row seat that he realized that the horse’s butt would be up in his business if he chose to sit there. “Oh no, um Sir David? Where do you plan to sit? The far back row with all the books?” the messenger asked the knight as he coaxed his horse onto the boat (the ferry man’s daily banana smile dropped because of the horse’s size).

“John, hush and let me situate her first. And yes, obviously I’m going to sit in the back. I don’t want to sniff her ass, John.” The messenger laughed at the knight’s last remark, and then turned around to crawl over to the last bench row.

“Okay Dave! Whatever you say.”

 

Although the ride to Hopeland was pleasant for the messenger and the knight (they talked the whole time about nonsense), it was a little different for the ferry man. The poor boy had to suffer the wrath of the horse while he focused on steering through the dark waters. Such wrath consisted of the horse bending down her head and nipping at the ferry man’s hood. At one point the horse pulled it off, and the ferry man had whacked his hand above his head in an attempt to change the horse’s course of attention but alas, the attempt was futile as the horse had instantly found a new joy: the ferry man’s soft brown hair.

So when the long boat reached Hopeland’s dock, relief had washed over the ferry man, freedom from the horse’s playful biting at his hair nearly attained.

John had found humor in the whole ordeal (when he finally noticed the ferry man’s distress), and had patted the ferry man atop the head with a loud laugh. “Nice hair style, ferry man! Why were you hiding it this whole time, huh? Ah whatever—I gotta go before the King grows sour with impatience!” John placed a gold coin on the ferry man’s head, laughing all the while.

And thus, John left. However, the knight decided to take his sweet time in convincing the horse to follow his lead and de-board, the horse too infatuated with snacking on the ferry man’s hair.

“Come on girl, let’s get out of here. I have to get a new sword before the sun falls short of the horizon” Sir David cooed at his mare, which sounded funny coming from such a stoic-looking man. “Don’t be like that.” The knight frowned. “Here look,” he said again while reaching into the brown sack that hung from his belt. “I got a real snack for you to enjoy!” Dave exclaimed with and held out the red apple, waving his hand back and forth in front of the mare’s head from where he stood safely on the dock.

The white mare seemed to notice him this time (bribery always worked on her), and she neighed in glee, tapping her front right leg in the process, successfully making the ferry man nervous. 

Once the knight had managed to get the horse onto the dock, the ferry man breathed out a sigh of relief. At least he was paid well for his troubles, the ferry man thought after Sir David had produced a good sum from his other pouch to give to the ferry man.

“Be here before the sun reaches short of the horizon. Thanks” the monotonous knight looked back and said after climbing aboard his horse.

The ferry man simply scratched at his mohawk, and then pulled back up his hood while his new passengers complained for him to get a move on.

 

Twenty minutes later of wandering around the market on horseback, the knight finally came across a not-so-shabbily-built—with a heavy tent cloth on strong wooden beams—shop that blocked the chilly air by having a tent flap hand closed over the only entrance all day. That is, unless it was a sunny day—extremely rare for Hopeland—and business was booming. But so far, not so much luck came for this blacksmith.

Parking his steed in front of the shop, the knight carefully slid his leg over the horse to step down onto the ground. He then grasped the reins and led her over to a surprising pile of hay near the shop. What a perfect place to keep her, but odd at the same time (how many blacksmiths kept haystacks by their shop?). Shrugging it off, the knight walked toward the entrance, boots splashing the mud beneath him around. 

“Gross,” Sir Strider shook his head at the new mess, shaking his now mud-covered boot off. Eh, it would eventually dry.

“Hello?” The knight pulled back the tent flap and looked both ways around him, eyebrows drawn together.

There was the sound of coughing and clanging of metal adjacent to Dave’s right, and the knight jerked his head in the direction of the noise, instantly catching a whiff of the gray ash produced by the heavy fire. Sir Strider coughed himself then and took a step back, bumping into a red-painted metal tin behind him.

The tin wobbled a bit before eventually losing the battle for balance and toppling over. Alarmed by the sound of things hitting metal, Dave turned his torso so that he could look behind him. Upon recognition of the merchandise the tin held, Sir Strider’s eyes lit up with delight as memories of his childhood flooded his vision.

“Holy shit—little tyke swords!” the knight exclaimed and lifted one wooden sword high into the air, turning it around and around in examination. “Aw man I haven’t seen one of these since I was a little guy!” the knight laughed and looked down to find one with a red hilt, when all of a sudden, a deep voice echoed at the back where the ash had come from, successfully interrupting his reverie.

“Excuse me Sir—knight?—but may I ask of you to refrain from using certain words inside my shop? ‘Little tykes’ do wander in here sometimes, and I don’t imagine that their parents would be too pleased to hear you use such vulgar language” said the gruff voice and Dave, a little ticked at how the guy was talking to him, whipped around and pointed his wooden sword in the man’s direction.

“Okay man, calm down. I was just having a moment with the kiddie swords. And there’s no one in here so you don’t have to tell me what I already know.” The knight could see that the buff owner was slightly unnerved at Dave’s action, the gleam of sweat just barely noticeable in the light of the fire behind the dark-skinned man. Now that the man was illuminated by it, Sir Strider could make out his strong features and straight black hair that hung just down to his shoulders. Oh was he tall, too, just like the lanky Johnny boy (Sir David did not approve of being smaller than the goofy boy).

The blacksmith made a grunt of irritation at Sir David’s response, but nonetheless let the knight be in favor of returning to his current sword-molding. It was a project meant for one of the King’s eight sons, so this was not a job to be taken lightly—he would have to give it his all.

During this, the knight had come to the final conclusion that he would purchase the little tyke sword along with one of the blacksmith’s premade battle swords (Sir David lacked the patience to wait for a custom-made one). “A-hem,” Sir Strider coughed to announce his need for the tall man’s assistance, who, of course, turned to at least acknowledge the foul-mouthed customer.

“How may I help you, Sir?”

“Sir Strider.”

“Sir _Strider_?” the tall man corrected himself to humor the customer while crossing his arms, fully turning this time to give the knight his “full” attention.

“I require one of your swords you have hanging up on that wall there” Sir David responded—ignoring the obvious emphasis on his name—while pointing at the wall behind the stone table that the blacksmith’s current project laid on.

Inclining his head to look back at this wall, the blacksmith scoured the hanging contents with a vague sense of which ones the knight would particularly be interested in. “And what on this wall catches your eye, Sir Strider?” the dark-skinned man asked, yet still looked on at the wall, trying to decide which red-themed sword would look best strapped to Sir David’s side.

“Alright, I’ll be claiming that velvet beauty you got up there in all her crimson glory” the knight said and jerked his head upward, red eyes staring over and reflecting back in the sword’s smelted iron blade. “Along with this little guy here.” Sir Strider waved the child-sized wooden sword back-and-forth in the stale air beside him, a smirk playing on his lips at the blacksmith’s flinch.

“Pay mind to the children that walk in here, _Sir_ ; maidens do not approve of distasteful behavior such as yours.” The blacksmith faced away from the vivacious knight and stepped around the stone table, heading for the sword of desire to remove it from its place on the wall of success and hand on over to Sir David.

“Hardly ‘maidens’ now.”

“Excuse me?” setting down the blade to lay on the bear-skin coated wooden table in front of the knight, the blacksmith crossed his arms and scrutinized the pale man.

“Well what I’m just saying is that if they have children, those women are no longer ‘maidens’” the knight shrugged his shoulders while the blacksmith furrowed his brows, and then patted his left side for his coin pouch.

“I was referring to the few maiden that often peer inside here at my young warrior patrons” the blacksmith uncrossed his arms and watched the knight with a newfound irritation, anxious for the customer to leave already and be on his merry way. Didn’t he have some royal duty? Well he was certainly not upholding it very well if so. “That will be twelve gold coins.”

“Hiding your mistake behind what is obviously a false security. I heard that quiver. You need to work on your game, Smith.” Sir Strider gave up on trying to detach the sack, and instead simply sifted through the contents until he had retrieved the appropriate amount to give the blacksmith. “Here you go, Smith. Looks like you could use the business.”

Face reddening in anger, the blacksmith closed his fingers around the small fortune placed into his palm and narrowed his deep blue eyes at the infuriating knight. “Do not call me ‘Smith.’ My name is Equius, if you must call by name. ‘Smith’ is very disrespectful not only to me, but to the blacksmith trade as a whole and I will _not_ stand for it in my shop. It would be in your best interest to leave now, Sir Strider. I hope you have a wonderful day despite the dreary weather.”

Pretending not to notice the sarcasm in the blacksmith’s voice, Sir David picked up the velvet beauty and, in a torpid motion, tucked it into the empty leather sheath on his right side. After that, he slid the wooden sword behind the red strap around his waist in hopes that it would stay snug, kept in-place by a slight turn of the hilt to prevent slipping through. All this was done while staring down this “Equius,” not once breaking contact—not even to blink. “Little advice,” the knight said while still holding his gaze. “Drop the attitude-affected temper—you’ll experience a dramatic increase in business if you do.”

“What do you know ab—”

“See you again some other day, my meaty companion!” the knight cut the blacksmith off while waving him off, and then ducked underneath the door flap and disappeared into the gray light. 

Equius could make out the gleeful neigh of what must have been a well-bred horse, and then there was only the sound of the crackling fire from the melting hearth.

***

“NO! You mustn’t tell Anastasia about this, Iia! It is Crimelda’s direct orders, and you know that no one disobeys Crimelda” the tall pointy-faced woman expressed her feelings toward the matter dramatically to the shorter female, who responded with a frown while fixing her messy blonde bun.

“You don’t think I know that, Mefrei? I’m having enough time trying to sort out how best to handle this…this _mistake_ as best I can, and your lectures are only giving me a headache” Iia snapped at the tall maid. “I just…can’t believe we just _krilled_ a _gil_ …oh Lord in heaven now I’m even talking like the Queen!”

The sound of a slap resonated down the hallway, but Aradia could care less by now since her answer was already found: the girls had really done the deed, and the widow wasn’t just imagining the informal burial session she had the misfortune of witnessing. She had her information, now all she had to do was alert the queen.

But…did she really want to do that? Yes, it was great to get back at Crimelda finally, but squealing was such a horrible thing. Yet…this all seemed so familiar. In fact, hadn’t the seer just warned of something like this the previous day? How eerie. As freaky as it was, the new maid did not have time to fret over such things as Crimelda came into view around the corner bend, stopping Aradia in her tracks into a slow walk, hands busy with fixing her bun as a distraction. Although it didn’t change the suspicious look that the evil maid gave her, at least she had no reason to actually question her about her odd reaction. Instead, Crimelda simply lifted her nose high into the air as she walked on by the widow, who in turn shook her head at the “princess.” 

There was the mahogany doors now, beckoning the widow to open them and relay her message like the scribe does every day. With little time to contemplate whether she honestly wanted to do this or not, Aradia pushed open the double doors and stumbled on in, all out of breath and disheveled. And there sat the young queen in her regal glory, staring over at the new maid with wide, curious eyes that had her frozen in place. Yes, this was really happening now, and there was no way of going back. Taking in a deep breath to calm herself, Aradiella took two tentative steps forward, legs shaking and eyes darting around the room like a mad woman. The queen, paying no mind to this, folded her hands in her lap and raised one eyebrow at her new maid’s distress. “I…”

“What did you _sea, guppy_? Your bun is a fish egg nest!” the queen giggled, adding humor to the dark tension in the room. 

“Your majesty,” Aradia whisper-shouted, stumbling forward to fall to her knees before the queen, although it was a little too far from her throne. “Something…is not right” she muttered, and then her whole body shuddered. Confusion had taken over the queen’s previously soft features, and she leaned forward in her throne seat, the jewels of her headdress dangling in the process and her dress tumbling down the edge of her seat.

“Do not fear me, Aradia. I am here for you” the queen said then with a warm smile, calmly urging the girl to share whatever disturbing information she was withholding. “Tell me what ails you, and I promise to bring you security.” 

Gulping the saliva, the widow gave a nod of her head, and then took a deep breath that she released in one long, shaky sigh before meeting the queen’s distressed gaze. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, my queen, it’s just _hard_ to get the words out, but…there’s been a death. Untimely. Cruel; for power.” Aradia bit her lip then, preparing herself to go on even as the seer’s words resounded in her mind: _If you should choose to squeal like a pig, then you will be rewarded dutifully._ Was she “squealing like a pig” now? It sure felt like she was. “Crimelda, she—she _killed_ a girl. One of your special maids…I’m so sorry!” the new maid cried and covered her face with her small hands covering her face. “I’m so sorry…buried her, they put her in the Earth, the sweet Earth…garden…” Aradiella continued to stammer out, though the words were broken up now and could hardly be considered cognitive answers. Through this mental struggle that Aradia was facing, the queen stood from her throne and crossed over to the double doors, her empress-like dress brushing past the rocking maid.

“I will swim back shortly, _guppy_. The guards will watch the door while you…” Queen Feferi bit her bottom pink lip, then shook her head and exited, heading for the murderous maids most likely. 

Aradia sat there on the hard floor, a cold draft blowing over her even though it was summertime. She wrapped her arms around her legs and sobbed, her face buried into her knees. The whole scene reminded her of when her husband was buried in the yard, and though she had no problem with death before, this whole murder reminded her of why she was at the castle in the first place: to escape her own murderers.

This was the first time that Aradia had considered leaving her new home.

***

“My queen, it is an honor to be offered this, er, position, but I don’t think this dress suits me…and you really don’t want me in the ladies’ room” Aradia said with a crooked smile, looking over at the queen with pleading eyes. The dress truly was _hideous_ , and the widow honestly did not want to attend to a queen while she did her business—that was just degrading (although the others clearly didn’t think so)! The widow lifted up the sides of the dress and frowned at the light pink apron coupled with the fuchsia under frills and puffy sleeves. It was a pink nightmare, to say the least. 

Feferi giggled at her statement and simply waved her hand in dismissal, the other covering her mouth daintily as she swallowed her omelet piece. “ _Guppy_ , don’t be such a humble pearl! You deserve the position, and I wouldn’t have it any _otter wave_!” the queen grinned at her and clapped her hands, imploring the other maids that sat at the table to join her, although Crimelda and her gang of murderers weren’t exactly feeling the spirit in their new black dresses. (Since Aradia had much more free time on her now, she decided that she would abscond to Kanaya’s work room later to avoid any encounters with the gang.)

“Also, I have a special request for you later, _guppy_!” Queen Feferi chimed in her chipper tone, and something about the twinkle in her eye had Aradia thinking that this wasn’t something she wanted the other maids to know about, and that alone kind of scared her. “I’ll _carp_ with you _aboat_ it during my after-breakfast _pearl_ break, _ocray_?” Although the queen had posed it as a question, the widow knew that there was only one answer anyways, so she simply nodded whilst reclaiming her seat (even though her appetite was officially lost due to Crimelda’s consistent glaring).

“Now what were you telling me _aboat_ before, Anastasia?”

 

Once all the happy chatter had subsided and the plates cleaned, the dishes maids rose from their seats and went to the kitchen to gather the necessary cleaning supplies, although they didn’t leave without some plates stacked high in their hands first. The queen waited for her other maids to stand and make for the door before she rose from her seat at the head of the table and walked over to meet Aradia, who bowed to her respectively. “Oh! No need for that _guppy_!” she said with a laugh like a bunch of chimes blowing in the wind. “Let’s get this business crackin’ now, _shell_ we, heehee?” Queen Feferi patted Aradiella on the back and led her toward the double doors, her other bathroom maid following suite. “Ah, Oprenoi” Feferi said in a plain tone. “You are to be our door maid today, _ocray_?” The widow hated it when the queen ended her demands in questions like that, as if to put a more innocent tone to her orders to keep the mood light (but at the same time, she couldn’t really blame her; at least she was trying to be friendly with her servants).

When they were inside the tiled room, behind the pink curtain, Aradia had to help lift the queen’s voluptuous dress as she lowered her behind into a squat above the silver circle vase (yes, royals pooped in silver vases, who would’ve guessed? Aradiella mused with a snicker). With red blotches adorning her pale cheeks, the widow looked the other way to give Queen Feferi at least some decency while she released her bladder, although she unfortunately could not avoid hearing the sound the liquid made as it impacted the silver bottom. As if this torture was not enough, Feferi took it upon herself to start up conversation even as she was doing her business. Dear Lord in heaven this was not happening right now, the new bathroom maid thought, cheeks darkening.

“I _minnow_ that you’re _newt_ and all, Aradia, but you have already proved yourself to be somefish of trust, and for that I respect you. Because of this, I wish to reward you _beta_ than even this: you’ve been chosen to be my best _frond_ at the Grand Ball! Isn’t that EXCITING?!” she squee’d at the girl and clapped through her strain to hold her squat, and then rose to three quarters of her full height, ready for a wiping. “Hand me the cloth now, would you please, _guppy_?” 

Momentarily confused by the queen’s strange request, Aradia had a mental delay that she had to shake out of in order to focus on finding this cloth that shouldn’t be too hard to find, if she reused it that was (yuck). And there it was: a white-and-gold-lined cloth hanging from a metal bar, just out of the widow’s reach. She cursed under her breath and stared at the bundle of dress in her hands. Maybe if she just raised her arm higher and stretched the dress out like a drape, she could reach the cloth…

It was a serious stretch indeed, but the widow had finally managed to succeed in her current task, and had handed the cloth to the queen. “My queen,” Aradia started nervously. “Here is the cloth you requested.” She _hoped_ that Feferi wasn’t going to make _her_ do the dirty work (oh no)…! But Queen Feferi merely smiled at her and retrieved the cloth by hand, only to reach down and—Aradiella turned her head the other way, cheeks darkening all over again in record timing. “So um, what you meant by me being your ‘best friend,’ did you literally mean for me to act as an acquaintance of yours at this fancy ball? If so, I’d have to deny because I am merely a servant of yours and am not worthy of such an honor” _or farce play_ , the new maid hummed anxiously.

“Oh dear! Please don’t turn me down! You _reely_ are the best fish I could ask! And besides, it’s _knot_ that great of a position: all you have to do is swim on by me every now and then and flash your pretty white pearls to the sharks!” the queen giggled while passing the cloth back to Aradia, who pinched it at the tip and tossed it at the “soiled rags” pot, face scrunched up all the while.

“Now let’s get out of this hole, _shell_ we?”

 

Days had passed since that first bathroom discussion with the queen, and yet every bathroom meeting afterward had not ended in Aradia’s favor; Queen Feferi was a stubborn woman indeed! Why couldn’t she see that the widow wanted nothing to do with this “best friend” position she spoke of? 

Her final answer came in the form of a red dress, one that seemed oddly familiar to Aradia yet a completely new creation at the same time. She just couldn’t place her finger on the reference.

It was two hours before the Grand Ball when Aradia began to get a sense of the meaning of her dress after she was handed the shoes to match and it was safe to say that she was scared, afraid of what path this event was going to take her down. Some fish was swimming too close to the surface in that queen’s head, and the widow didn’t like its prospect.

“May I present you with a fresh glass, Madame?” one of the guests had caught on to Aradia’s exclusion from the current gathering around the queen and had decided to pester her. The widow, being who she is, returned good manners by giving him a smile, but chose to decline this offer and move on to better scenery. For instance, the conversation between Sir Strider and the royal scribe was of a unique caliber, Aradiella thought, and so she sauntered on over to earn an invitation to join them.

“But I thought that you liked shrimp!” the scribe laughed and dangled a piece in front of the knight’s face.

“No no, you read me wrong John; just because I live in fish-villa doesn’t mean I like those pink creatures” Sir Strider responded whilst whacking the shrimp out of sight. It flew into the air for a moment before landing in a duchess’ glass. They shared a laugh that would have brought Aradia into the conversation since she chimed in with them, had the queen not come up from behind her to request her presence.

“Aradia, may I speak with you in my quarters?”

***

“So what is it that’s boggling your mind, my queen?” the widow questioned her once the door was shut and they sitting on the edge of the bed. “More specifically, why must we discuss this in total private? There are other maids outside the thick doors that you can also confide in; I’m sure they’re trustworthy. Oh, have you perchance found a respectable suitor to take the vacant throne?” Aradia said with raised brows.

“You see that’s actually one of the things I wanted to talk about with you, Aradia” the queen responded and placed a hand on the widow’s closest thigh, cheeks tinting pink ever-so-slightly. She averted her gaze a moment later. “But uh, it’s also kind of hard for me to bring up…”

The fact that the queen had stopped implementing those weird fish puns into her dialogue meant that she was being serious, which of course prompted Aradia to lighten the mood by suggesting one of the most ridiculous prospects. “Is it that blue hat-wearing duke?” she teased with a nudge of her elbow, but then regretted it the second after she did so. What was she doing acting like she was the queen’s legitimate “best friend?”

“Oh, no! No no no no no!” the queen shook her head and even took her hand away to cover her face with both. “Oh Aradia, you’re waaaay out of the water here.” Queen Feferi sighed whilst sliding both hands down to her lap in one slow, intermittent motion. “I know this is going to sound off the wall at first, but I need you to at least think it over—and most important of all, _don’t say anything to anyone_ …please!” she reached out her hand again and looked at the widow with glistening eyes. Aradia felt a frown coming on, but suppressed the urge and stared on at Feferi with a studious face. “I promise you that I’m hardly anything like the prior queen, but what I did respect her for is her bravery to publicly be with Aranea, even for the short time it was…” she swallowed and glanced down at her hands. “What I’m trying to get at here is that—at least I think this is what it is—I like you more than a servant, which is _wrong_ , yet it feels right to me. And I want to be able to express these _eelings_ —oops I let a pun slip—with you” the queen hiccupped at the end, and then slapped herself across the face for doing so. “I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed and looked away, fanning herself with her hands all the while. “Oh that was so hard to do” she muttered to herself, probably wishing to be heard but unfortunately Aradia was gone mentally. At least, for the moment she was.

_I believe that the dress is meant for a very special servant, one that is worthy of entering her personal quarters. Alone._ These words echoed in Aradia’s mind, and she not had no doubt on where she’d first seen the dress she currently wore. Oh, what a fool she had been! To unintentionally lead a queen on…it felt like such a crime! It wasn’t her fault, yet she felt it was at the same time, which made it far, far worse. There had to be some way around this, yet there wasn’t any better option than to accept presented to her, at least not at that moment. “Oh, uh…” she uttered, drawing a blank.

“I-I mean you don’t have to respond right away, but can I at least kiss you?” the queen spluttered and leaned closer to Aradia as if to draw more attention to the idea. So the widow let her do as thus, but she felt too wrong mentally to appreciate the warmth of the queen’s lips on hers, and how truly soft they were compared to her deceased husband’s.

“May I be excused to your latrine briefly?” the widow burst out the second the queen had pulled away.

“Oh…well, do you need me to hold your dress?”

“Oh no! I mean, that is not something a queen should be doing, your highness. Kindly excuse me” Aradia responded with a curtsey, to which Queen Feferi clapped in delight.

“Alright well go on then! I’ll just twiddle my thumbs, eh-hee-hee.”

Aradiella didn’t actually have to use the restroom. No, she just wanted to escape that awkward situation and sort through her muddled thoughts to eventually come to a conclusion. Under normal circumstances, this would take hours—but Aradia only had a few minutes and so far, the open window was looking like the beginnings of a great idea.

Surely the men would have ceased their search for her by now, right?

Hand and foot to each tiny crevice between the gray stones, Aradiella Megido climbed her way down to the shrubbery below all the way from the fourth floor, and though she slipped midway to the first, the bushes weren’t so hard from that height. Aradia crept around the castle and slipped out of the drunken knights’ sight down the bridge to the market district, and ran as fast as her bruised feet could take her into the silent night.

**Author's Note:**

> Modern Geography to Take Note of: As you can see, I did *not* use places that actually exist in England. Instead, I replaced real existing places and gave them my own names to give the setting more of an “alternate dimension” sort of feel since whatever events happened during the actual time in those places have been written over with this story. Here’s a little key for your convenience:
> 
> Filindia = Essex (yes, this is a real county in England).  
> Hopeland = Maldon (Brinkman is simple on the slope mentioned to have been there in medieval times.)  
> Tartaunus = Colchester
> 
> Here’s where the geographical history has been stretched a little: instead of a bunch of rivers (which I learned were there and Colchester is farther from Maldon than you think), Lake Doombreak is going to replace them as well as the Suffix territory that is seen in this medieval map of Colchester: http://users.trytel.com/~tristan/towns/images/colcmap2.jpg However, we’re not actually going to follow that map; it was simply a reference for your convenience.


End file.
